The Reunion
by happybeckett
Summary: Castle forces his way into the Beckett family reunion. Early Season 4 AU. Prompt via castlefanficprompts on tumblr.
1. Friday

_Disclaimer: Though I may have student loans, a splitting headache, and a fudgesicle in my hand, I do not have the rights to Castle. Sob, sob._

_A/N: This was originally a prompt from an anonymous contributor to castlefanficprompts on tumblr, but I tweaked it quite a lot. The prompt was as follows: "Caskett slept together but Beckett still isn't ready for a relationship. But when she has to go to a family reunion Jim convinces her to bring Castle and he tries to get her to let him in. Season 4 AU. Lots of angst and Beckett pretending to be okay when she isn't.." However, I didn't want to have past sex in their history together, so I took that part out. Mostly, this stays true to that prompt. Mostly._

_And yes, there is a second chapter. And, most likely, a third. If you like it, stay tuned._

* * *

"This is, by far, the _worst_ thing you've ever done to me."

"I've heard that phrase so many times that it lost its original meaning a long time ago."

With an annoyed sigh, she exited the highway, heading toward back roads that would eventually lead to her father's cabin in the Adirondacks. The usual four-hour drive was tainted with his antics as he berated her with _are we there yet_ and _we should stop for dinner_ and _are you always like this when you bring men to your family reunions_; as she came up to a red light, she put the brakes on later than she should have, jolting him upward in the lumpy seat he'd complained about many hours beforehand.

"Bec_kett!_" he said.

"Serves you right!"

"Last time I checked, Aunt Theresa was _excited_ to see us together," he insisted to no avail; she still held a frown.

Two weeks beforehand, life for her had been simple, easy even; she'd made vacation plans over Labor Day weekend for her family reunion, an event to take place at her father's cabin, and though she'd kept the event _so_ quiet in the precinct, Castle had, of course, happened upon her plans. In retrospect, she shouldn't have left her cell phone unattended on her desk, but she had rights as a person, didn't she? I have rights, she thought, rights that include letting my cell phone remain untouched while I get another cup of coffee from the break room. Though she'd only left the bullpen for a few minutes, Castle had nonetheless seen an incoming call from the _darling_ Aunt Theresa, and as he would, he'd taken the call, had gawked with Theresa for a terribly long time about how _her little Katie_ was working with such a brilliant writer. By the end of the phone call, Castle had managed an invitation, and despite Beckett's utterances of _I'm going to kill you_ and _you simply can't go_ and _that was just not cool_, he was still on the guest list for the event. Worst of all, he insisted on carpooling.

"Well, Aunt Theresa won't get a show," Kate said as she made a fast start. He jolted up once more in a way that was oddly satisfying for her. If he invaded her personal life much more this weekend, then he would owe her new tires. At least, that was the way she would put it. "In case you've forgotten, we aren't romantically together."

"Yet."

She swatted his arm.

"If you say things like that to my family, then I'll never hear the end of it, and - even worse - they'll _want_ you to come back in five years."

"Five years?" Castle questioned. "I thought you said your last reunion was in 2008."

"It was," she said.

"Then why is it happening this year?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Familial reasons," she said. "Specifically ones you shouldn't know, being that you weren't born a Beckett."

"But, Beckett-"

"And if you call me that around others with the same surname, they'll find it cute, and then I won't hear the end of it," she said again.

"So?"

"So, _stop_."

Luckily, she pulled into the cabin's driveway before he could retort. Though the driveway was long and graveled, she moved through it with ease - many vacations to the cabin had seasoned her driving skills - and stopped on a worn-down, grassy section of the lawn, a section where two other cars were already parked. Because nine in the evening had just passed, light was gone from the sky, but Kate could still see the glistening ripples across the wide lake; the cabin was perched right next to Lake George, a more secluded section of the bustling place. She'd once heard that the owner of the Red Sox owned a house on the lake, but no one allowed her family to know more about that man, for the Becketts would surely make enemies with anyone close to the Sox. Still, this part of the lake was peaceful, far from the rich jet-skiers and the iconic yacht clubs. Though the cabin had a dock, her father had never invested in anything larger than a single-person kayak, a wide fishing canoe, and a rowboat that was on its last legs. The tranquility of the log cabin on the lake was almost mesmerizing; the city had made her eyes sore, and goodness, was this a sight.

"That's pretty," she heard from the passenger's seat.

Turning slowly toward him, she gave a look, then took her keys from the ignition and went to head into the lit cabin.

"You're going to be on the couch," Kate said as she popped the trunk and headed to the back of the car. "As usual, I'm taking the smaller of the two bedrooms. If you want food, there's probably something in the fridge, but don't touch anything labeled or anything that looks like beef. If you want a drink, there's beer in the shed, and I brought a bottle of Pinot Noir. Otherwise, you're on your own."

She'd only brought a backpack for the weekend; he'd packed a duffel twice the size of her bag. Sometimes, she forgot how metrosexual he could be, but this was not one of those times.

"Let me guess," she said. "That's part of a matching set."

"How can you find your bags at an airport if they _aren't_ a matching set?" he said.

Though she knew it was a twisted one, he did have a point.

Shutting the trunk of the car, she locked the vehicle, led him toward the cabin. At the screen door, she stopped, turned toward him, and looked up to him.

"If you even _dare_ come into my bedroom tonight, I will have you know that I still have a weapon on me," she said, meeting his glance.

"Where? In your backpack? That bag could barely fit a folder."

She rolled her eyes as they opened the unlocked screen door.

"An _empty_ folder!"

"What's this about folders?"

The entrance was a small mudroom of sorts, merely an opening with shoe trays filled with fishing gear and boots along with wall hooks for raincoats and heavier night jackets. A small washer-dryer set was forced to fit among the walls; some form of magic must've gotten the equipment to fit in such a small space. Just beyond the mudroom, a galley kitchen was to the left with a living room just beyond it. To the right, there was a small hallway, down which he imagined were the bedrooms. The cabin itself held the aroma of pine and autumn leaves, and in the air now was the scent of...

"You made _wings?_" Kate said excitedly as she raced toward the living room, leaving her backpack in the dust.

Based on the fact that her gun was in that bag, Rick wanted to move the bag to a safer place, but the last thing he needed to do was touch her stuff. Touch her stuff? He almost wanted to giggle to himself, but then her saw her father in the living room, so he quieted - and sobered - himself. Creeping in, Castle left his bag next to Beckett's, and as he saw more of the living room, he noticed that other family members were in there as well, all cooped up on the couches and floors and all in a fit of Bullshit, even the ones who looked too young to understand that word.

"Making, that is. The wings aren't done just yet," Jim Beckett said from an armchair in the corner. He put down a card on the center coffee-table. "One four."

In a flurry, Kate was heading over to her father, leaning into a side-hug as she kissed his cheek. Though the next player was supposed to play a card, she, a little girl likely around eight years old, was much more interested in being swept into Kate's arms. She even looked like Kate, with the nose and cheekbones that her father had given her; the only piece of their faces that didn't match were the little girl's eyes.

"And how are you, Miss Natalie?" Kate said with the widest smile he'd seen her give in weeks as she lifted the little girl up onto her hip.

Natalie, the little girl, hugged Kate closer, leaning into her collarbone and squeezing tightly. Though he didn't realize it, he was staring at Kate as she leaned down to kiss the girl's forehead and whisper something into her little ears. Then, he still stared as she set the girl back down on the couch and sat down alongside her while family members on either side insisted that Natalie play the next card.

"Isn't it a little late for you to be up?" Kate asked Natalie as the little girl snuggled up to her side.

"She said she wouldn't go to bed _until Aunt Kate came home_," a man around Castle's age said from his spot on the couch. This man greatly resembled Kate as well though his eyes were brown instead of her dazzling green.

As Kate's grin widened, her expression was almost infectious; the joy seemed to overflow from her face, and as she hugged the little girl closer, Rick, again, was staring.

Putting down a card, Natalie gave a wide smile and said, "One six!"

"You're playing fives, silly!" Kate said as she leaned in to tickle the little girl, who laughed along with her.

"Then it's a five!" Natalie said.

"Well, I'll be da-"

As a man around Jim's age sitting beside Kate picked up the card, he laughed to himself, looked up at the group behind his large glasses, and flaunted a card that, surely enough, was a five.

"Told you!" Natalie said, still grinning. "Now take the pile, Grandpa!"

As the so-called Grandpa took the pile, he straightened his plaid shirt against his striped pants, then began to organize his cards over his pot-belly. A fairly plump brunette woman sitting alongside him looked up to Rick, gave him a once-over with a nice smile. Then again, the smile was more approving than it was kind; Rick uncomfortably smiled back.

"And you must be that dazzling Richard I spoke to on the phone," she said, and surely enough, she had the voice of the infamous Aunt Theresa, who now was waiting for Grandpa to put down a six, a card he surely had based upon the number of cards Natalie had graciously given him.

In moments, all of the eyes in the room were on him; first, there were Jim's, then Natalie's, then Kate's, then Grandpa's, then Aunt Theresa's, then the man around Rick's age's. Six pairs of Beckett eyes looked up at him, yet only one pair held the green hue of Kate's. Now, he was uncomfortable.

In a stage-whisper that seemed more like a shout, Natalie cupped her hand around Kate's ear and asked, "Is Richard your _boyfriend?_"

Dropping any cutesy tone she'd acquired, Kate gave a stark, "No."

All six sets of Beckett eyes blinked.

"Then who is he?" the man around Rick's age asked.

"I'm her partner," Castle said.

Kate glared toward Rick. Rick grimaced.

"Police partner."

Kate's evil-eye worsened.

"I'm a writer who follows her on cases."

The glare raised a bit but still remained. All six sets of eyes blinked once more.

"Because Castle - _Rick_ - wanted to meet all of you," Kate said, evidently buttering up the story, "he insisted on coming here with me for the weekend."

"But he's not your boyfriend," Natalie whispered once more.

"No, I'm just her friend," Castle said.

Was there sweat on his brow? There was sweat on his brow.

"Rick," Kate began, "you know my Dad. Over there is Uncle Ernie and Aunt Theresa, their son Scott, and his daughter Natalie."

Putting names to faces, Rick said, "It's a pleasure to meet you all."

Pure silence came. The Becketts all blinked once more. A timer began to go off.

"Hey!" Uncle Ernie, or Grandpa, said. "Who wants wings?"

* * *

"I'm not saying that it was _the_ most awkward introduction I've ever been given..."

As she popped the cap of a Dos Equis off for him, she gave him a look.

"What kind of introduction were you looking for?" she asked as she uncapped a beer for herself. "Did you want me to read your book-jacket out loud or something?"

"Well-"

She interrupted him with a flick to the ear, and heading back out to the living room, she walked with a comfortable swagger, her beer in hand. Once more, he was staring, and this time, it wasn't simply because her ass did _wonders_ for her jeans; instead, he stared for the comfort, for the uncensored Kate Beckett who wore blue-and-red flannel shirts and who braided her niece's hair while Daddy and Grandpa took the wings out of the oven. Since her shooting, he hadn't seen this playful Beckett much, had only seen the serious, still-coping Beckett. It was almost life-giving just to see her live again.

As usual, he followed her.

Back in the living room, the card game had been abandoned for late-night food, and as three cookie-sheets filled with wings were left on the table, each person was eagerly grabbing for food. Though napkins were on the table, they were a foreign idea; everyone ate with their hands and hardly cared about the mess. For now, Kate had taken a seat on the area rug on the floor, so now she faced where Uncle Ernie, Aunt Theresa, and Scott were all sitting. On the sidelines, Jim sat in his armchair. Natalie had taken to Kate's lap and was offering the older woman bites of wings, which Kate clumsily took. Alarmingly, he hadn't seen her eat since her shooting; instead, he assumed that she had insisted on going out to lunch or finding somewhere other than the precinct to eat. Though he'd invited her places, she'd always declined, said that she had somewhere else to be. According to the boys, she usually never left the building during her lunch hour, yet he never saw her eat. Now, seeing her be fed chicken wings by an eight-year-old, he was both shocked and delighted.

Sitting down to her right, he folded his legs and took a sip of his beer.

"C'mon, Castle," Kate said in between bites. "Try some. They're a family classic."

So, of course, he took a wing. Each of these wings was vibrantly red, coated in a sauce that would be phenomenally delicious if it tasted just as wonderful as it smelled. Taking a bite, he chewed, marveled, and said, "These are amazing."

And yes, they were amazing, with a fiery pepper taste that held hints of rosemary, oregano, and fennel. The thick sauce coating each wing was delectable, and though he wanted to be polite, he wanted even more to lick each and every one of his fingers. As a kick of heat came to the back of his throat, he took another wing; he wasn't going to let these go to waste, not now and not ever. They were much too delicious to simply _not_ eat.

"Chew with your mouth closed!" Natalie demanded toward Rick.

"Alright!" Castle said, still chewing.

And then Kate laughed, and merely hearing her laugh would make any form of eight-year-old chastising worthwhile; he swore that the sound of her laughter could cure the ill. With laughter lines around her eyes and mouth, she was a picture, an utterly gorgeous image that could warm hearts and cool temperaments. Somehow, she was ending the summer on a much better note than she began it with; now she was able to laugh and to smile and to be joyful, and why was _he_ so thankful for that? Because you love her, he reminded himself, as he did almost every day.

Once he'd had six wings, he was full enough, so he slowed down, took a sip of his beer, and left the drink in his right hand while he leaned against his left. Natalie had stopped forcing wings upon Kate and had instead begun to nod off against her aunt's chest, yet the little girl's eyes were still locked on Castle. In slow, groggy motions, Natalie reached over and took Castle's left hand, and while everyone else was too busy in conversation to notice, Natalie placed Castle's left hand firmly over Kate's right. Then, Kate turned, looked to Castle to see that their hands were almost - _almost_ - clasped, and once Natalie removed her small hand from the pile, the little girl said, "That was wrong. _This_ is right."

He could sense the tenseness within Kate as his hand remained over hers, but she dared not move until Natalie fell asleep against her. With her eyes locked on Castle's, Kate had a look of disbelief and want, her eyes wide and enticed yet scared and blank. While Natalie lazily played with a curl of Kate's hair, Kate moved her glance away from his face and stared at the hands put together. No one else was looking - Kate had surveyed them all in a fraction of a second - so she moved her thumb against his, a gentle motion that made him feel both numb and aware simultaneously.

The little girl's words came back into his head; that had been wrong, but this was now right. In fact, this felt right even though their hands didn't fit together in the iconic way that hands did in movies; this felt comfortable, at ease. He'd forgotten about the wing-grease on his fingers, and even when she stroked his thumb again, she didn't notice the sauce on his hands. Once more, she met his glance, stayed with his eyes as she leaned down toward the little girl in her lap. Closing her eyes, she gave Natalie a kiss on the forehead. And that was when Castle realized it, how her face had been when Natalie had put their hands together; she'd held the same expression as the one she'd had after he'd kissed her all those months ago. It's kismet, he thought as the lightest of smiles came to his face, an unnoticeable grin that he hadn't intended to have.

She'd been the one to initiate the second kiss. So, what would their elusive _second kiss_ be now? He wanted to think about it more, but then, Natalie was sound asleep, so Kate quickly moved her hand and went to stand up with Natalie safely grasped in her arms.

"Scott, you ought to head back to the hotel soon," Kate said, holding his sleeping child. "She's zonked."

"That's because she wouldn't shut up about seeing you again," Scott said as he stood up to take his sleeping child.

"We _all_ couldn't wait to see you," Aunt Theresa confirmed quietly as Scott gave a wave goodbye and headed outside to where his car was parked. "Your father emailed us pictures of you all drugged up and okay in the hospital, but we all wanted to see you for ourselves."

With that, Castle understood; they'd rescheduled their reunion for a family matter that wasn't pressing and urgent but still needed to be addressed. No one in the family was dying, so they hadn't needed to make quick arrangements, but something had happened to one of them, something that made going to this event much more personal for Kate. Had she not been shot, they would've had their gathering in 2013, not 2011, but there they were, a few of the many attendees beginning to embrace the fact that Cousin Jim's daughter - or whatever her label was to a certain family member - was still alive.

And he'd come and had interrupted the entire thing.

Avoiding Castle's glance, Kate said, "I don't even remember half of those pictures being taken. Those drugs were _nice_."

Nonetheless, she still had a lingering sound of discomfort in her voice; she could tell that he'd put the dots together that she was embarrassed because of it.

"Anyway," Uncle Ernie said, "we'd all best be going. A carpool only works if you're all in the car together, right?"

Uncomfortable laughter came. Kate brushed her bangs up and squeezed her hair there.

"Well, it was great seeing you all again," Jim said with a smile. "Now we just need to see _everyone_ tomorrow."

"Little brother, this house can't fit many more than the bunch of us," Ernie said with a laugh. "Good thing there's a lawn."

"Is Great-Aunt Lucille coming?" Kate asked Ernie.

"She is, and - even better than last time - she's bringing _two_ chocolate cream pies instead of one," Ernie said.

Once more, Kate smiled.

"Good," she said. "I love those pies."

As goodbyes were said, Rick was left standing alone, a beer in his hand as Kate blew kisses - Kate Beckett physically _could_ blow kisses? - to the little bit of family they'd seen that night. He loved her, knew that much with ease, but sometimes, he felt so detached from her that he wondered whether or not he should be allowed the honor of loving her. Though he knew nothing about her family, he loved her nonetheless. She was wonderful with that little girl, yet Castle hardly even knew if she eventually wanted kids. Back when he'd easily noticed her coffee order, or back when he'd even scoped out her love for his books through how she'd phrased a comment about Nikki Heat cover art, he had been ahead of this whole game of theirs; he had learned as many seemingly menial things about her, the parts that wouldn't be a part of Nikki Heat but still comprised the phenomenal woman she was, so that he could to justify the attraction that he had to her. And back then, it hadn't even been romantic or sexual attraction - okay, _maybe_ there had been some sexual attraction - but instead a lust for knowledge of this woman and of her stories. Now, he had been graced with her tales, had been allowed to learn of her ways, and through this knowledge, love grew. Nonetheless, he still felt unworthy of her, for she was a woman who could triumph over a bullet wound and who could adore her little niece and who could spend her nights alone reading because that was what she wanted to do and who could give any man a lifetime of happiness, surprises, and unconditional, loyal love.

So, naturally, he was unworthy of her, but he silenced those thoughts as she shut the screen door, for now was not the time to think of reasons that he shouldn't love her. Instead, he told himself to simply remember why he loved her, and if his reasoning didn't allow him to stick around, then he merely wouldn't stick around.

He took another sip of beer. At least now he could feel uncomfortable without six sets of eyes blinking on in front of him.

* * *

"Dad, I know you think the couch is uncomfortable, but-"

"Sir, I'd _much_ prefer-"

"He's entirely immature-"

"Though I don't want to, I agree with her statement wholeheartedly-"

"That room is far too small for two people," Kate said, pointing into the smaller bedroom, where two twin beds sat parallel within a few feet of each other.

Upon hearing of Rick's stay, Jim had separated the twin beds that created a queen-sized bed in the smaller bedroom; though the blue-painted bureau and the matching dresser made the room just a bit more crowded than it needed to be, he and Beckett could still fit. However, she didn't want him in the room, and if she didn't want him there, then he wouldn't try to push his way in, so now, they were arguing like idiots in front of her father.

"Sleep where you want, Rick," Jim said as the older man retired toward his bedroom. "Don't let Karate-Chop over there fight you out of the room."

"Thanks," Kate muttered under her breath as her father closed his bedroom door.

Going into the smaller bedroom, Rick took a blanket that was folded on the end of the bed along with a pillow and went to leave the room; she was still standing outside of the doorway as he went into the living room and lay down on the couch. Slipping the blanket over himself, he placed the pillow beneath his head, and now, he was ready to close his eyes. However, he sensed her presence drawing nearer, so he pried one eye open. With her arms crossed over her chest - and, mind you, she was looking rather cute right then, being that she was wearing a pale pink Life is Good tee shirt with this little s'more emblem, and she even wore matching patterned flannel pants and had her hair in a ponytail, making her look even more tousled and comfy and snuggly even though he knew that he sadly couldn't snuggle with her - she gave him that same look that kept recurring throughout the day.

"What?" he asked.

Rolling her eyes and sighing, she began to walk back to the bedroom and reluctantly said, "Come on. Off the couch. You heard the man."

"Really?"

His lips curved into a grin as he stood up and got off of the couch. Though he didn't want to admit it, Jim was right; that couch was _awful_ against his back, so the bed would be a much nicer way to spend the night.

The bed. Their beds were separate, each a tiny twin that was merely feet away from one another, but they were still separate. To him, separation between them in the bedroom meant that neither of them had to assert the utter lack of _funny business_ necessary for a decent weekend; there was no need to question where he slept so long as he wasn't in her bed, so why had she been so adamant about having her own room? Though he didn't want to ask, he wanted to know why.

Returning to the bedroom, he saw that she'd taken over the left-most side of the room, the side closest to the door; her backpack was on the bureau in front her bed, and as she settled in underneath one of the blankets, she distinctly faced away from him. The lights were already out as he shut the door and crept over to his own side. Settling in, he held his tired head to the pillow while spreading a blanket over himself. He was comfortable enough to be drowsy when she next spoke.

"Castle?"

Her tone was a whisper, as though she thought he might be sleeping already. However, she herself sounded wide awake.

"What?"

"Are you a light sleeper?"

"Why?"

He could almost hear her eye-roll.

"I'm just asking."

Though he wasn't sure of his answer, he gave, "Probably not."

"Good," she said.

"Okay," he said.

There was a silent moment during which neither of them slept of dreamed or was actively awake; they were thoughtless as they let out a breath and sunk down into the self-comfort that they had to allow their bodies. It's strange, he thought, how she can be so close to me yet still feel miles away.

"Goodnight, Beckett," he said quietly.

"Goodnight, Castle," she returned softly.

And he smiled, for he could hear her breathing, for he could see her smiling, for he could watch as the extraordinary woman he loved was loved by her family, and for now, loving her from this distance would be enough.


	2. Saturday Morning

_Disclaimer: Guys, I don't even have a full tank of gas in my car right now._

_A/N: I wasn't going to post this until a week after I posted the first chapter, but, uh, here we are. Oops. I guess I got a little carried away. This was supposed to have a lot more going on in it, but then, I checked my word count and found that this chapter was around 9,000 words (?!), so I found a stopping point. Saturday was supposed to be one chapter, but I guess it'll be two. Oops again._

_As another side note, thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who shared, reviewed, favorited, followed, or came even remotely near to this. I'm not exactly a popular author on here, so to see any form of a response was awesome for me. I may or may not have done a little happy dance each time I received an email notification. Thank you all._

* * *

Though he was a night owl by nature, he despised waking up at night against his own will. At some point in the night - he wasn't sure of the time exactly - he woke, and as he surveyed the room for his watch or for a clock, he couldn't find the time. Still, he felt wide awake, and surely, he wouldn't be able to fall asleep for another fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour. Instead, he shifted positions, tried to find a new way to lie on the bed. Surprisingly, she was awake as well, or so it seemed, for she had left an unmade bed, a lit book light, and a copy of Dostoevsky's _The Brothers Karamazov_ in its original Russian - or, rather, he assumed it was _The Brother Karamazov_, for one English translation of the novel held the same book-jacket - laying where she aught to be lying. He sat up, glanced around the room once more, but she was nowhere to be found.

Maybe there's a clock in the kitchen, he thought as he groggily stood up. Passing by her bed, he studied the closed book. Something was perplexing about the novel; the book-jacket was too wide for the novel inside of it, so the jacket came to a crease earlier than it should have. Though she was the one interested in Russian literature, he knew, for a fact, that no Dostoevsky novel could possibly be that thin. Leaning over the book, he went to piece back the layer of book jacket when the door to the room suddenly opened. Jumping back, he now knew for sure that he would be awake for at least half an hour.

"Castle?" Kate asked meekly as she opened the door farther, her voice tired and almost frustrated. "Why are you up?"

Yes, she most definitely was frustrated; her brow was folded, as though she'd been thinking to much. In one hand, she held a mug of what smelled like chamomile tea, and pieces of hair had easily strayed from her ponytail. Nonetheless, she was a sight for his sore eyes; she was still Kate, and even at that, she seemed as though she would be anyone's honor to wake up to. Though he would've preferred much different circumstances, he could still appreciate waking up next to her in this way.

"I woke up and wanted to see what time it was," he said as she walked to her part of the bedroom and sat down on the bed. While he walked back and sat down on his own bed, she turned off the book light and took a sip of tea.

"Why did you wake up?" she asked as she put the book carefully on the bureau and then settled in once more, her tea on the bedside table that set the boundaries between their beds.

"Don't know," he said, cozying back up. "Why did you wake up?"

"No reason," she said far too quickly for comfort.

Not questioning any further, he gave an, "Okay."

She was then silent, and as he closed his eyes, he could still hear her breathing. Through years of being a father, he'd learned that heavy, weighted breaths meant that the child was sleeping while soft, easy breaths meant that the child was likely still awake. Of course, it was easier to tell with children, for children were loud and rambunctious and reckless, so it was harder to tell that Kate Beckett was still wide awake half an hour later, but he was sure she was. Though he didn't want to, he managed to succumb to sleep long before her breaths began to slow.

You can ask her in the morning, he told himself, yet he still fell asleep unassured.

* * *

When she next opened her eyes, a smile subconsciously came to her lips, for she could hear bacon frying, and she could smell coffee brewing, and when a proper breakfast was served for her, she couldn't possibly have a bad day. As she slowly crawled out of bed, she saw that Castle was still asleep, so she let him be; after the introductions that she'd put him through - or rather, that _he'd_ put himself through - the night beforehand, he at least deserved a decent night's sleep. She, on the other hand, would take a cheese-and-pepper omelette and a cup of coffee over an extra few minutes of sleep any day.

She crept out of the room and into the kitchen, where her father had bacon cooking on the stove and a carton of farm-fresh eggs on the counter.

"Good morning, Katie," he said as he scooped two pieces of bacon off of the frying pan and onto a serving dish. "Did you two sleep well?"

Giving her father a look, she said, "He stopped talking, for once."

"Well, _I_ think being around him is good for you," her father said. "You were all over that new book of his when it came out. Even though you could barely walk to the bathroom on your own, you were frantic to make sure that I bought you a copy. It was the most excited I'd seen you since long before you came home from the hospital. Then, I found your advanced copy, and you _still_ haven't given me a good reason as to why you needed two copies of that book."

"First of all," she said, going into the cabinets to find a bowl, "the advanced copy only shows so much. It leaves out the dedication, the cover art for the next book, any extras that readers would like. Second, I'm the muse, and therefore, I deserve a copy."

"Muse rights," he speculated sarcastically as she took cracked an egg into a glass bowl. "Do you think that would hold in court?"

With a playful nudge, she moved past her father and headed toward the fridge. Pulling a bag of shredded cheese out, Kate went back to make herself an omelette, and to her luck, Castle had decided to grace them with his presence right then.

"Good morning, Becketts, junior and senior," he said as he stood there, far too awake for her liking. "Did you get back to sleep okay last night, Kate?"

And then the room became tense as her father's face faded and as her own face became stressed. She'd done so well, had moved away from that whole situation as well as she could, but, of course, Castle had to bring it up.

Whispering over to Kate, Jim said, "You were supposed to tell me if that started happening again."

"Dad, not right now," Kate insisted, shaking her head.

Though Castle tried not to listen, he found it hard to stand there while both Becketts took all of the oxygen from the room.

"May I ask where the coffee is?" he asked, trying to clear the air.

"Yes," Kate said, content with any form of topic-change. "The mugs are in the cabinet on your right, and the pot's next to the fridge. If you want creamer, it's in the fridge, and there should be sugar somewhere on this counter."

"Got it," he said as he took a mug from the cabinet and then weaseled his way between the Becketts in order to find the coffee-pot. As he poured himself a cup, he asked, "Beckett, would you like me to make you a cup?"

"Yes, actually," she said, almost surprised with his offer as she took out a mug and handed it to him. "There's vanilla syrup right next to the pot."

"Great," he said, pouring her a cup.

Though he'd had the stuff for months, she only noticed that he'd bought sugar-free vanilla syrup specifically for her morning coffee when she'd stayed with him after her apartment had been bombed. When they'd headed out to the next crime scene, she had nursed the coffee he'd made her, had sipped it with surprise as she declared that it was exactly her coffee order, to which he stated that it was, of course, her exact coffee order. Despite her attempts to have him stop buying sugar-free vanilla syrup just so that he could bring her coffee in the morning, he'd nonetheless continued, and even though she knew it should've annoyed her, she almost admired his continuity.

There had been a series of episodes in House, the medical drama, during which Doctor Chase always told Doctor Cameron that he liked her on a Tuesday. Or was it Thursday? Kate couldn't recall. No matter what, Doctor Chase said that he liked her once a week every week with the hope that she would eventually say it back. To her, the coffee was his way of saying _I like you_, but at the current moment, she didn't know how to say it back, so instead, she simply accepted his coffee, smiled in both delight and gratitude as he handed her the mug. Complete with skim milk and sugar-free vanilla syrup, this was _her_ coffee, her favorite little _I like you_ of his. As she leaned against a counter, she took a sip.

Then, he took to making her omelette for her, a gesture she'd hardly expected but was welcome to anyway. For a moment, she wondered where these gestures were coming from, but just this once, it seemed as though his motives were solely to make her happy, for she could've made her own coffee, and she could've made her own omelette, and she could've cooked everyone else's breakfast on top of that, and though he realized she could make her own, he genuinely wanted to do it for her instead. While he plated her omelette, along with one for himself that had shared the pan with hers, he asked her father if he would like one as well, but her father hated the taste of eggs, so Rick merely left the pan to cool as he gave both himself and Kate large helpings of bacon.

"Where do you usually eat?" he asked her as the two of them toted coffee mugs, plates, and silverware.

"Mostly, we eat outside because of the weather, but if necessary, we'll stay in the living room," she explained. "Just don't get anything on the floor. Mom was always a stickler when it came to messy floors."

He nodded as they headed to the screen doors just beyond the living room, the entrance to the open patio. In the sunlight, they sat down at a patio table, complete with authentically-wooden chairs, and settled in for breakfast. The way the morning sunlight hit the lake made tiny star-like lights appear over the deep-blue water, and while Castle looked around at all of the wildlife, at all of the trees, at the boats near the dock and at all sorts of wildflowers in the distance, he was almost taken aback with the utter beauty of the place. The night beforehand, he hadn't seen the glory of the area, but now, he noticed it easily.

"It's beautiful here," he said before scooping come omelette onto his fork.

Nodding after she finished chewing, she said, "Yes, it is."

"Did you miss it while you stayed here?" he asked. "The city, I mean."

Slowly, she shook her head but kept her focus down.

"I didn't at first, but once I was up and moving, I missed city life," she admitted between bites. "It was strange, the longing at that time."

"How so?"

She met his gaze but then dropped her eyes as she said, "For months on end, I would stare out the window in that tiny bedroom and long to be in the lake. It was so inviting, you know? The cold water, the sandy texture of the bottom, the hours that could be spent living on the land, all of it was so inviting, yet I couldn't make it to the couch without wheezing. Though I knew I had a long recovery period, I still wished every morning that I woke up for a chance to go swim in the lake. I just wanted to jump off the dock and fall beneath the water as it took me in, you know? And then I wanted to swim out to where I couldn't touch and see if I could dive down and touch the bottom without looking."

He was quiet as she reached over to take a sip of coffee, and while she sipped, she met his glance once again. Had he told her before that her eyes were beautiful? Yes, yes he had. Would it be rude to tell her once again? Yes, yes it would be, for she was giving him a glimpse of her soul; these were moments that writers craved from those around them, for these moments shaped the bond between two things, and now that she was letting him in just a little bit more, he wanted to hug her, kiss her, thank her, but for now, he would be respectfully silent as she continued.

"And then I managed to recover," she continued, her hands still wrapped around her coffee cup. "It was long and hard, yes, but I ended up alright. The weekly doctor's appointments became monthly, the physical therapy became harder, and for once, I could cook and drive and walk and be alive once again. However, the longing ceased; while my health was there, the lake would be as well, so I put off swimming for as long as I could. Though I knew I wouldn't, I kept telling myself that I would go out on the ever-enticing _tomorrow_, but nonetheless, I stayed indoors and on land."

"Did you ever get a chance to go?" he asked.

As she glanced behind herself and toward the lake, she turned her head back to him, met his glance with a sad smile, and shook her head.

"We could go right now," he offered, shrugging his shoulders. "It's warm. No one's here. Plus, you can't say no to this offer, for that will only further your point."

She have him a look, then said, "I don't want to know what you'd say if you saw me in a swimsuit."

"Again," he added. "If I saw you in a swimsuit _again_."

Receiving an eye roll, he watched as she finished the last of her omelette; his had gone long beforehand. She leaned back in her chair, and as she held the coffee mug in between her hands, she glanced down at the liquid, seemed to be somewhere else for a moment.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

She perked up and said, "Just fine."

"Okay," he said, not believing her.

Standing up, he took her empty plate along with his and went to head back into the kitchen. Based on the coffee mug he'd left on the table, he planned on returning. He was quick to clear their dishes, easily washing them while Jim placed pans and other dishes into the sink. Though Castle merely held a moment's worth of eye contact with Jim, he could tell that there was something on the older man's mind, something about what Kate had been doing awake last night. Then, Castle was forced to remember that he knew next to nothing about her recovery; he knew that she'd returned to the precinct early, and other than that, he'd never received pictures or progress reports or anything of that kind. He'd been in the dark about something that had become a great but terrible part of her life, yet he hadn't a clue about it. Once again, he remembered that he didn't deserve to love her, for he knew nothing of her while she held the universe's stories. He loved her, knew that much easily, but could she ever love him if even he himself thought that he didn't deserve her?

Returning to the porch, he tried to think more optimistic thoughts.

"Castle?" he heard as he sat back down on the patio.

"Yes?" he asked her as he took a sip of his coffee.

It was cute, how she furrowed her brow in unsureness before she spoke again; though all of her better judgement was telling her not to, she wanted to do something, so forcibly, she silenced the smarter part of her mind.

"How serious were you about that swimming offer?"

* * *

"Just...don't look, okay?"

"Okay."

Words couldn't describe how desperately he wanted to look.

Being the overpacker - or, in his opinion, the _smart_ packer - he was, he'd brought a swimsuit along, and apparently, she had as well, but for the moment, she was standing on the dock while her suit was covered by a tee shirt and a pair of running shorts. She'd insisted on going in the water first, for she didn't want him to see her in a swimsuit, but he hadn't a clue as to why she was suddenly so insecure. Back when they'd been in Los Angeles together, she'd worn a suit - a _nice_ suit - in front of him, so why was she more self-conscious now?

"Are you looking?" she asked, her back to him as she stood at the tip of the dock.

"No," he said.

"You're definitely looking."

Putting his palms over his eyes, he said, "No, I'm definitely not."

"Okay."

But, of course, he dared to sneak a peek and watched with one eye as she slowly and carefully lifted the the shirt off of her body, and then, he noticed it. The long, tinted-red scar spanned from just above her waist to beyond where her banded bikini met her skin. Closing his eyes - for real this time, he promised himself - he almost wished he hadn't looked, for if her scars made her uncomfortable enough that she dared not expose them to a partner - a close friend - of hers, then she must have been scared to have almost anyone see them. He wasn't scared by her scars, but as he heard her splash into the water, he felt solemn, sad that she had to carry that weight with her every day and through many intimate encounters she could have. To him, a harmful memory inscribed upon a person's body involuntarily was a hardship no one deserved, especially not her.

"You can open your eyes, Castle," she called from the lake; he could almost hear the grin in her voice.

Uncovering his eyes, he headed toward the dock and jumped in even though the water was shallow at the edge. Because the lake only met his ribs at that level, he easily walked out along the sandy bottom toward her. Goodness, was she a picture as he walked toward her; she'd submerged her body so that only the tops of her shoulders and above could be seen, and with an impeccable grin across her lips and with a lively-looking bun on top of her head, she was the kind of woman that would be perfect for the cover of some up-north magazine, one for a ski resort or an iconic inn. She was beautiful - almost anyone could notice that much with ease - but the life and power and strength she gave was what made her extraordinary; she was comprised of all beautiful elements, even her flaws and her shortcomings and her scars. Now he wanted to see her scar again, but this time, he wanted to have her show it to him voluntarily, for being given that honor was something he believed anyone in love with Kate Beckett - hopefully just himself for now - would know was a time-honored gesture of pure trust. For now, he could simply swim over to her instead and watch how wide her smile became.

"It's perfect, isn't it?" she said, her hair all wet as she began treading water. "The sun, the water."

"Yes, it is," he said.

_Those, among other things about right now, are perfect as well._

Alongside her, he swam as well, and with an enticing look her her eyes, she dove down, was careful to make sure that her scar - miraculously - never showed; as the tips of her toes disappeared from the surface, he could only see an outline of her body in the water. Momentarily, she returned to the surface, her stretched neck peaking over the water's surface.

"How deep do you think it is?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"Fifteen feet, maybe."

"_Fifteen?_"

With a laugh, she said, "Castle, we aren't close to shore anymore. It's gonna be deep out here."

"Did you make it to the bottom?" he asked.

Pouting, she shook her head.

"I'm not so sure that it would be a good idea for me to try, either," she said.

He didn't want to counter her, for she knew her condition far more than he did, but he wished that, for once, he could say something to her an instantly make it true; he wanted her to be able to swim down there, to touch the very bottom, to come back up to the surface with such excitement that he couldn't help but smile. Instead, he found joy in the way smaller curls stuck out of her bun and dripped lake water down her neck, in the soft morning sounds that filled the outdoors, in the way her arms peaked and floated as she stroked out farther. And then words filled his throat, words that he couldn't say.

_You're beautiful, Kate Beckett, and you're intelligent beyond any comparison I can make, and even though you have flaws, plenty of them, your flaws are what make you the phenomenal woman you are. And I love you, Kate, and I know that we haven't had the best of circumstances for this partnership of ours, but I'm maddeningly in love with you anyway._

Luckily, she spoke before he could let anything slip.

"Do you have contacts in?" Kate asked him from where she was, a few feet away from him.

"No," he said. "You know that I don't wear contacts."

"Oh. Right."

Then, he paused, and with shock, he said, "Oh my God, you have glasses."

"What?"

"You wear glasses!" he said again, surprise still in his voice. "How have I never seen you in glasses?"

She raised an eyebrow as she smirked at him.

"My previous pair blew up, so I was forced to go without them for that little overnight," she said as she continued treading water. "I wear contacts, but once those come out, I don't bother with the glasses unless I want to read something. It's not even that harsh a prescription."

"The _eyesight_ part is no where near as interesting as the _picturing you in glasses_ part."

"If I were over there, I'd slap you."

"Subjunctive. That's a turn-on, though I've honestly never understood its proper use."

"Shut up."

And he was silenced.

For a while, they both simply bobbed among the little waves of the lake, but then, she leaned onto her back, stuck her stomach up as she floated there, and this time, he only partially strayed his view from her body. Because he right side was toward him, her scar wasn't seen, but her swimsuit was; she wore a red bikini and a fairly modest one at that, being that each strap was thick while every piece of fabric was more along the lines of athletic than sexy. The red suit seemed to be fading in certain places, as though the garment was well-loved, but nonetheless, her body was...he almost wanted to look away, for he didn't feel worthy. Though he already knew this much easily, she was a strong woman, with muscles that she once complained wouldn't fit into a blazer she'd wanted to buy - to which he'd said _tough luck_ - but seeing the sheer athleticism in her body was captivating. Nonetheless, he could still see dimpled skin on the upper-backsides of her legs, and somehow, he found such a thing much more appealing than a lack of it; she was real, a wholesome woman with stories to tell and with wisdom to share and with an ass worthy of awards and with a sharp, intuitive mind. She was the kind of woman who could take him in drinking contests and who could eat an entire filet mignon without feeling daunted and who could hum along not-so-secretly to Hall and Oates while they were in the car together and who could be soft and hard simultaneously. And he was in love with her, and at this point, he didn't know if there was any turning back.

Because he didn't have contacts in - but he would insist on seeing Beckett in glasses later - he dove down and kept his eyes open while he went underneath the water. The color was dark but not murky; he could still see fairly well. As beams of light fell through the columns of water, he swam down toward the elusive bottom - not hers but the lake's - and saw that it was, indeed, rather far from where he'd been treading water. Looking around, he noticed that she was close by, up a few feet and still leaning back into the water. He went to swim back up but stayed a few feet away from her, not wanting to frighten her as he reappeared.

"It's deep," he said once he resurfaced.

"Told you," she said as she leaned down to tread water once more.

"I'm sorry that you can't go down there all the way just yet."

"In all honesty, you can't either, so I don't feel that bad about it."

"Hey!" he said, then playfully splashed her as she laughed.

"I'm just saying," she insisted.

He shook his head as he grinned.

"We should probably head back in," she said. "It's past ten o'clock now, and people are supposed to arrive around noon, and you _cannot_ meet the rest of my family while you smell like lake water."

"Ah, the Becketts, a much classier family than most all of my kin," he said with mock-elation as she rolled her eyes.

"Shower up, Writer Boy," she said as she began to stroke away. "And use soap for once."

"Bec_kett!_" he groaned in response.

As he always did, he followed her once more.

* * *

"If you even _dare_ joke about us being together, I will shoot out both your kneecaps without warning."

"You might scare Great-Aunt Lucille."

"Scare her?" she scoffed. "She would cheer me on."

With that, he narrowed his eyes to her, to which she gave a smirk. As the afternoon began, cars and more cars full of people parked on the outermost parts of Jim Beckett's lawn, alongside and near Kate's car. The two had volunteered to help park cars - or, at least, Kate had volunteered them to park cars - because the idea of the two of them mingling with every last guest made both parties nauseous. For now, they could only take the _are you together?_ question a certain number of times before something terrible happened. Castle recognized absolutely none of the faces - hadn't Kate shown him even _one_ picture of her greater family? - so while Kate waved excitedly at relatives who toted tupperware full of a once-every-five-years varieties of food, Rick stood as a deer in headlights would, with a blank expression and without any sense of logical direction.

Then again, he could always just look at her instead, for she had a different allure to her in this state. With her hair in a French braid - she had felt that drying it would make the weekend far from a vacation - she looked comfortable and at ease, and the jeans she wore looks as though she'd worn them hundreds of times beforehand, and her tan flip-flops were evidently water-damaged though she wore them anyway. Her toenails were painted red. As far as he could tell, she wore only mascara and tinted lotion. The heather-grey tee she wore made her eyes shine. In this state, this knowing comfort of a family gathering, she didn't have to dress up, instead wore what felt comfortable on the cool August day. He'd nearly matched her, being that he'd only brought a grey shirt and a tan shirt along with a pair of jeans, but upon seeing her in grey, he'd gone for the tan, for matching Kate Beckett during a family gathering in which they were merely friends - for now - was asking, well, to have both of his kneecaps shot out. Nonetheless, he adored how comfortable she looked, how at ease she was in comparison to more recent months.

As a blonde woman who looked as though she'd fought her fifties with many different anti-aging creams walked toward Kate, Castle shifted his glance, watched as the two squealed - Kate Beckett could _squeal?_ - in joy upon seeing each other. In a flurry of motion, Kate opened her arms up to the woman, and they embraced tightly for a few moments.

"Little Katie, how long has it _been?_" the woman asked.

_Little Katie?_

"Too long," Kate said, elated as she ran her fingertips down the woman's arm. "Are Nick and John here?"

"Just John, but _guess what_," the woman said, her personality as fun and loud as her hair color. "He has a _girlfriend._"

"Our John, the John with the braces and the action figures and the computer games, has a _girlfriend?_"

"Yeah, and get this, they're living together!" the woman exclaimed. "I mean, he's thirty, but I was _amazed_ that he left home so quickly just to live with her!"

Rick had been prepared to assert video games and action figures, but upon hearing that this family member of Kate's was not the teenager he'd expected, Castle decided to hold back.

"That's great," Kate said, smiling. "It's great to see you, Aunt Edith, but there are many more people inside, and we're both just supposed to be directing traffic-"

"Ahem," Aunt Edith said dramatically as she looked toward Rick. "What is this elusive _we_ you speak of?"

Opening his lips to introduce himself, Castle found that he had a problem; Beckett's hand had clamped over his mouth before he could get a word in. Though Kate's eyes stayed steadily on Aunt Edith, her hand knew exactly where to go.

"This is Rick Castle," Kate introduced, almost through gritted teeth. "We work together."

She brought her hand down, now that he knew not to talk.

"Ooh," Aunt Edith said with an interested grin. "Business or pleasure?"

At that, Castle choked, tried not to make a fool of himself as he coughed a few times.

"Business," Kate said, her tone entirely sober and almost mundane.

"Well, that's no fun," Aunt Edith said, playfully swiping Kate's shoulder. "Rick, you're gonna have your hands full with this one. Back when she was eleven-"

"Hey, basic park rules say that you can't feed the animals," Kate joked.

Castle wanted to counter her but instead froze.

"I'll go see who else is here," Aunt Edith said, nodding quickly. "You two have fun."

Kate smiled. Castle grimaced. Once Aunt Edith was out of earshot and eyeshot, Kate's smile faded into a look that begged _honestly?_

"Smooth," she said, looking up to him and sarcastically nodding.

"At least let me talk to the easy ones first," Castle said. "Like, huh, someone old. Not one of the _Real Housewives._"

Now, that comment struck something, for she put her hands on her hips and immediately defended with, "Aunt Edith is an _inspiring_ woman, mind you, and-"

"Okay, okay," he said, admitting that he was wrong. "Either way, that wasn't as easy as you're making it out to be."

"Just smile and don't talk, okay?" she said.

"Smiling, I can do, but not talking?" he groaned. "Beckett, you know me _way_ better than-"

And in a strange twist of events, she kept her eyes away from him while she suddenly clapped her hand against his ass. Though it was a grab - yeah, it was _definitely_ a grab - she turned to him with a sarcastic look.

"Yes, Castle, I know you well enough to know that you'll shut up if I do that."

She moved her hand away. After a moment's pause, he asked, "Could you do it again?"

As he should've expected, she rolled her eyes.

For a few minutes, they were comfortably quiet, just listening to the sounds of the lake and of the folks who were standing around outside of the cabin. Though he'd always thought highly of his family life, he wondered what it would have been like to have a family of this variety, a bunch who made pies and who pestered nieces about boyfriends and who hugged their Aunt Kate in a way that made Aunt Kate smile beyond compare. This was lovely, really, this whole weekend; having people come together just to see one another lifted his spirits.

"I'm fairly sure no one else is coming," Kate said after a while as she looked toward him. "We might as well head in."

"Okay," he said, and as she started to walk back toward the cabin, he followed.

Her relaxed gait and her look of elation both showed him the part of her that he hadn't seen in a long time, the Happy Kate who had left her body when she'd frozen up at her first takedown. Even though they weren't together, he felt a pride for how she had pushed through, how she had let herself be happy once more. Now, he would meet her family, and, of course, they would tell him of how Kate was extraordinary in more ways than he knew, yet he felt as though he already knew how extraordinary she was, for stories of the past and tales of her younger days could tell him certain things about her, but the way she sipped her coffee each morning at work, the way she sat when she drove, the grin she'd had on her face when he'd given her that _Temptation Lane_ autographed picture, _those_ were the things that made him believe that she was extraordinary. At this point, he could only fall deeper in love with her, and oddly enough, he didn't mind that for now. Maybe she loved him back, and maybe she didn't, but for now, she was happy, and he was happy, so he didn't mind.

"You're being quiet all of the sudden," she said, a tad concerned as she glanced to him.

"Just thinking," he said.

"Good thinking or bad thinking?"

"Good."

"Good."

Returning to the cabin, they headed around back to where the patio was. On the patches of grass beyond the patio, folding-tables covered in homemade tupperware-clad goodies lay, and family members were sprawled out on picnic blankets looking over at the lake. It was peaceful, a tranquil sort of talkative that allowed everyone to express what had happened since 2008 in pure comfort. In the background, eighties soft-rock played through speakers set beneath the tables.

"Those are the pies," Kate said, lifting her chin toward a dessert section of the table. "Chocolate cream. Entirely homemade. If you don't eat a piece, you'll be missing out."

"Got it," Castle said in return.

As they both stood there, their hands in their pockets as they looked out on the crowd, a frenzy of children passed by in front of them. The group of at least seven kids under the age of eleven raced by, but at the sight of Kate, a few stayed behind.

"Aunt Katie! Aunt Katie!" a younger boy called as he raced up to her. "Momma says we can't go swimming unless a big kid goes with us."

Looking down at the little lad, Kate let her lips curl up in the ghost of a smile. Of course, Rick noticed it.

"Are you asking me if I want to go swimming with all of you?" Kate asked as she crouched down to meet his eyes, her tone a little more cutesy than normal.

Now the entire herd of young ones was surrounding her and nodding.

"Not yet," a voice behind them beckoned.

Joining the group, Jim Beckett looked down to all of the kids, then to his daughter. A silent moment passed between the father-and-daughter pair, a knowing look that proved one thing rather well. He could read it with ease.

_She doesn't want them to see her scars._

"You guys can go swimming later," Jim said, "and then Katie may want to join you all."

She gave her father a silent _thank you_.

"Boring!" the kid shouted as the brigade raced off elsewhere.

After a few moments of pause, Castle offered. "Well, I now see why you grew up to be the way you are, all rambunctious and too daring."

Giving him that same look as always, she glared toward him.

"Let's go join the other adults," she said, "unless you'd rather stay with your age group instead."

Now, it was his turn to give her _the look._

They headed toward the picnic blanket patch, found that one near another couple was empty. Sitting down, they both looked on at the group of talking adults, some older than others, some quieter than others. Next to them, a man and a woman, most likely married, sat next to each other, and as the man of the pair turned around to look back at them, Rick recognized Scott from the night beforehand.

"Hey, Scott," Kate said, smiling at the man.

"Hey," he responded.

Leaning up, Kate greeted the woman next to him with a, "Hey, Becky."

"Hey, Kate," Becky said in a hush.

Wondering why the woman was so quiet, Rick craned his neck to look at the woman, and to his surprise, she had a bundled-up baby cradled in her arms. The child couldn't have been older than two or three months, and as Becky held the baby, Scott looked down at the child with a soft smile. New parents once more, Rick diagnosed; this would be the little one's big introduction to the Beckett family. Castle held a small smile.

"And who's this you have with you?" Becky asked, glancing toward Kate and Rick.

"Rick Castle, work friend," Castle introduced quickly so that Beckett didn't have time to silence him. "And your baby is beautiful."

"Oh," Becky said, holding a small smile. "Thank you."

They made a nice-looking couple, she and Scott. With his dark hair and greyed eyes, he countered her flaxen hair, warm cheekbones, and deep brown eyes; they looked aesthetically pleasing together, so their children surely would be beautiful as well. The Becketts, he thought, a genuinely good-looking family.

"I didn't realize you'd been pregnant," Kate said, drumming up conversation.

"He was born around the time you were in the hospital," Becky explained. "You stole my moment in the spotlight."

For a second, Kate was tense, but then, Becky grinned and laughed.

"It's really good to see you again, Kate," Becky said, nodding quickly.

"You too," Kate said, still looking a bit off.

"Want to hold Tyler?" she offered Kate, gesturing to the baby.

Quickly, Kate said, "Oh, no. That's fine."

"Rick Castle? What about you?" Becky questioned. "C'mon, my arms are getting tired."

"Oh, of _course_," Castle said, entirely willing to hold the baby. Scooting closer to Becky, he said. "I know that we just met, but I assure to you that I'm trustworthy. I have an R.H.D. in caring for babies."

"An R.H.D.?" Beckett - _Kate_ Beckett - questioned.

"Ruggedly Handsome Dad," Castle explained as Becky gently and slowly passed the child into his arms.

Of course, Castle took to the baby like a natural, supporting his head and holding him gently yet securely. Rick started to talk cutely toward the baby, who merely lay there and made cooing sounds every few seconds. Looking on, Kate couldn't see the allure.

"Do you two mind watching him for a second?" Scott asked as he glanced to his wife and then to Kate and Rick. "I need to track down the other kids, and Becky was thirsty half an hour ago, so she's bound to be parched by now..."

"We wouldn't mind at all," Castle said before Kate could speak. "Go have some fun. We'll babysit."

"Wow, Kate," Becky said as she stood up. "Guess those two kids you said you wanted will be real sooner than you thought."

And then the moment tensed as Kate looked down in embarrassment. Though Castle glanced toward her, she dared not meet his glance. Instead, he held the baby closer, recalled elatedly moments like this one with Alexis.

"I'm sorry," Kate said, obviously uncomfortable. "She must've thought we were together, and-"

"Not a big deal," he said, shaking his head.

There was a pause, a long pause.

"So you want two kids?" he asked.

With that, she shook her head, still a bit mortified.

"A long time ago, probably back in 2003," Kate explained, "we had the reunion, of course, and Scott and Becky had just had Natalie, so of course, everyone had baby-talk on their minds, and conveniently, all of the family members my age were, well, my age at the time. We were young, I wasn't seeing anyone at the time, and everything was starting to look up for us. The last reunion in 1998 had been scheduled the summer after my Mom had passed, and it was just...hard, you know? So it was like some form of life-chapter, that 2003 one. I could finally admit to myself that I had a future beyond what I'd thought I had. Being right out of the academy and all, I thought I'd find someone before I made detective.

"The clouds were just starting to clear up in my life, and therefore, I decided to try optimism out. So, in a fleeting moment that my therapist later commended, I admitted that maybe I did want kids, maybe two," she said shyly. "But that was a long time ago. Hell, at the last reunion, I thought that Sorenson was the one, but things can change. People can change."

There was another pause.

"So you _don't_ want two kids?" he asked.

"I'd like to think about dating again before I think about baby names, Castle," she said, giving him a look.

"Well, holding someone else's baby is good practice," he said, acting as though he could hand the baby to her. "Get some practice. That is, before you think about dating again."

"No, thanks," she said, shaking her head.

"Oh, come on," he said. "Why not? It's a _baby._ How can you say no to his little face?"

"I've just never seen the allure," Kate said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Don't care," he said. "Hold the baby."

"No."

He narrowed his eyes, challenging her. With an eye-roll, she looked to him, finally said, "Fine. But only for a few minutes."

"Good," Castle said, a grin coming to his lips, for he had won this round.

Passing the baby toward her, she took the bundle awkwardly into her arms, and in a series of_ hold up his head_ and _I know what to do, Castle_ and _just be careful_ and _I'll be careful_ statements, they held their bodies closer while Kate cradled the baby in her arms. He leaned on the palm of his right arm, which stretched out across her back and landed next to her right hip. With his right shoulder next to her left, they were closer than he'd intended for them to be, but somehow, she didn't seem to mind. Because she hadn't strayed just yet, he leaned in just a bit more, and now, his shoulder was pressed against hers, and her back was along the length of his arm, yet she didn't budge. Instead, they both looked down at the baby in Kate's arms. As he glanced to her, he saw that even her face had grown quiet; speechlessly, she looked down at the child in her arms, her hands to gingerly holding him there. Strongly yet gracefully, she cradled him against her stomach and above her folded legs, and as she stroked her fingers through his tufts of hair, the slightest of smiles came to her lips.

Oh, she _definitely_ wanted kids. That little smile of hers easily told him so. Though they weren't together - yet - he already knew that he would have kids with her in a heartbeat, maybe even more willing than that. Then, he could picture these reunions in the future, when Kate would be the one whom everyone crowded around because of the new baby of hers. He could picture the elated pride on her face as she cradled her first-born, could imagine looking to her and knowing that this was his family, the newest members of it. Then, he could imagine a scene just like the current moment, only it would take place many years in the future, and the baby in Kate's arms would be theirs, not her cousin's. As Kate would hold the child, Rick would wrap his arm around her back, would lean down to look into their child's eyes - which, he hoped, would be bright green, just like his or her mother's - and simply because he could, he would kiss Kate's cheek, would whisper how much he loved her into her ear. In this imagining, she would smile and say something similar in return. Next, he would nuzzle his head against hers, and-

"Rick?"

Her voice seemed more fragile than usual, more intimate; as she turned to look at him, their faces were closer together than he'd expected them to be. Oddly, he could recall looking at her this way back when he'd first realized the she held the aroma of cherries. As she met his eyes, her mouth remained ajar, as though she had something to say but couldn't bring herself to say it. Then, she glanced to his lips but lingered there only a moment before looking back up to his eyes.

"You two having fun?" a voice came from alongside them.

Quickly, she turned her head toward Scott and Becky, who were now sitting back down on their original picnic blanket. Rick moved his eyes down to the baby, then toward Scott and Becky.

"See?" Becky said, looking toward Kate. "I knew you'd hold the baby at some point. Scott's going to owe me ten bucks."

A pause came.

"You took bets on whether or not Beckett would hold the baby?" Rick asked, moving slightly away from Kate.

"Beckett?" Scott asked, laughing lightly. "You call Kate that?"

Stammering, Rick glanced back to Kate, who rolled her eyes and answered, "It's mostly a last-name basis at the precinct. Therefore, he's Castle, and I'm Beckett."

"So you even call your girlfriend _Beckett_ outside of work?" Becky asked.

Again, Rick stammered as Kate covered with, "We're not together."

"Oh," Becky said, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, you had me fooled."

"Trust me," Rick continued. "Even when she hated me, perps still thought we were married."

Beckett gave him a look that seemed to say _you're not helping_ as he turned toward her.

"I can take Tyler back if you want," Scott said, reaching his arms out to Kate.

"Of course," Kate said, cautiously passing the baby back to her cousin.

For a few more awkward moments, Rick and Kate sat - this time farther away from each other - on the picnic blanket, and when he dared steal a glance toward her, he found that she'd been trying to steal a glance toward him as well. Self-conscious, she tucked a stray wisp from her braid behind her ear, and while Scott and Becky were wrapped up in taking care of the baby, Kate and Rick seemed oddly isolated from the crowd. Finally, he ventured a gaze toward her and ended up meeting her eyes.

"I'm surprised you haven't made a comment yet," Kate said as she looked toward him.

"A comment?" he asked. "About what?"

"Scott Beckett's wife," Kate said.

"You mean..."

Putting the pieces together, he let his eyes light up.

"Her name is _Becky Beckett?_"

"Technically, it's _Rebecca_ Beckett, but-"

"That is _the_ greatest name I've ever heard," he said. "It's also, coincidentally, the worst."

She grinned as she shook her head toward him.

"They a nice family, all of them," Kate said, nodding slowly as she looked away from him and toward the lake. He watched as she glanced out on the water. "Three kids. Well, four now, I suppose. Natalie, the oldest; Jake, the second-oldest; Mary, the second-youngest; and Tyler, the newest addition."

She was pensive as she watched little waves upon the lake roll in. At the moment, the lake was flat, the perfect texture for water-skiing. Though the wind blew by occasionally, the water still remained calm, enticing even. He hoped they could go swimming again. However, he wondered even more what she was thinking about at the moment.

"Everything okay?" he asked, and quickly, she glanced back toward him.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "Just thinking."

"Good thinking or bad thinking?"

She sucked her lips in, shrugged her shoulders.

"It's just weird, you know?" she said. "Seeing a baby that was born around the same time I was shot."

Hearing her say those words, _I was shot_, alarmed him; since her shooting, she'd hardly ever admitted to the event in that way. Instead, she'd referred to it as _the shooting_ or as some other idea, but to him, she'd never explicitly mentioned it. Of course, he himself had brought it up on some occasions, but for the most part, she kept to herself about that day, as she rightly should have. Because of how personal the event was, he didn't want to push for information; hell, at this point, she probably hadn't told anyone about her emotions before, during, and after being shot. As she'd told him, she didn't remember anything about it, but he could imagine that one day, she would remember everything, and when she did, he feared for her mental health. She'd been doing so well, had seemed to genuinely happy, but then things had turned awful once more. Sighing internally, he hoped that one day - hopefully someday soon - she would get a break. Though the universe didn't necessarily favor certain people, he wished that the universe would favor her for even a millisecond, for she deserved it. Then again, he believed that she deserved the world, so maybe he was being a tad more optimistic than necessary.

"Yeah," he said, the only word he could muster.

Looking down, she stretched her legs out, crossed her ankles over one another.

"You're staring," she said into her lap, her voice gaining some strange hint of intimacy.

"I'm just wondering," he said. "Knowing a healthy baby was born around the time you were shot. Does that make you feel better or worse about being shot?"

Slowly, she returned to his gaze, gave the ghost of a smile as she said, "Both."

He kept his eyes on her, watched the mixture of emotions play across her face. Goodness, she was beautiful. Challenging and frustrating and beautiful was she.

"It's a nice reminder," she said, nodding quickly as her gaze went back to the lake. "That during the worst of times, there's the possibility of joy."

For a long while, they were silent, and as he looked toward her, he was reminded once more of why he loved her so much; she was wise yet youthful, flawed yet beautiful, hard to get to know yet an honor to know. He wanted to reach out, to wrap an arm around her back as their sides touched, and then he wanted her to give that little smile that he gave when he said something that had - miraculously - charmed her, and then he wanted her to lean her head against his shoulder. Next, he wanted to kiss her forehead and nuzzle his face against hers. More than anything else, he wanted to whisper _I love you, Kate_ into her ear, for he loved her, and he wished more than anything that he could tell her how he felt about her. However, she had more to think about than how he felt about her, and after how she'd spoken to him on the swings, he doubted that she was emotionally ready for a relationship, so for now, he would hold back. Think about the future, he told himself, but then again, he was never any good at preparing for the future unless the future involved buying property on the moon. No matter what, he would wait until she was ready to hear those three words. Though he usually lacked willpower, he would gain it for her; that much, he knew with ease.

"Castle?" she asked, breaking their silence as she looked toward him.

Turning to look at her, he gave an attentive gaze.

"Do you think we could talk later?" she asked.

"Talk? We're talking now."

"No, not like this," she said, shaking her head, and somehow, he was surprised by the serious nature her voice had gained; as she pushed another wisp of hair behind her ear, she added, "Tonight, alone. Not in front of all of my relatives."

"Okay," he said, but inside, he felt more than okay, for now, she was grinning, her mouth forming one of those elusive smiles of hers.

"Okay," she matched.

And maybe - just maybe - she moved a little bit closer to him while others conversed and while "Wouldn't It Be Nice" played on those speakers beneath the tables of food, and maybe - just maybe - he moved a bit closer as well.


	3. Saturday Evening

_Disclaimer: I use the word "admission" far too many times in this chapter. Be warned. Also, my author's note is a little bit out-there. Oh, and I don't own them. Or the word "admission," for that matter. However, I do, sadly, own the author's note._

_A/N: Hey, look, another chapter. Oops, again. I really, really, really, really, really, REALLY liked writing this chapter. In case you don't notice by the end of this, I looooooove writing long dialogs. This chapter was like a candy store for me, only it was a chapter and not a candy store. Anyway. The next chapter may take a little longer than, you know, twenty-four hours. Though I'd like to think I'm Wonder Woman, I'm not, so writing 9,000 words in one day takes a lot out of me. Do you know how many cups of coffee I consumed while writing this? (Fun fact: it was four.) In other news about updates - which, by the way, will never be consistent with me, for I have absolutely no willpower - I am going on vacation starting this Saturday, so unless I finish this by then, I will not be updating for an entire week. Sorry about that. _

_Also, a huge thank-you to everyone who followed, favorited, reviewed, or even remotely viewed this. THANK YOU SO MUCH. All of your kind words made my day. No, really. Thank you so much for coming to my little nook of the internet. You're all lovely people. Thank you._

_(don't take the rating change too seriously)_

* * *

"I'm just saying that three o'clock is a little bit early to go for beer."

"You know, I'm amazed that you're rejecting alcohol at a family reunion," Kate said. "You strike me as the kind of person who would end up passed out in the bathtub before anyone could even ask you what you'd done since the last reunion."

"Funny - and, well, strangely accurate - but no."

She laughed lightly as she opened the refrigerator and asked, "Do you want one or not?"

"Fine," he said. "Hit me up."

"What kind?" she asked. "Stella, Dos Equis, or local?"

"Local?" he asked. "Define _local._"

Pulling a bottle from the fridge, she said, "_Bobcat Blonde_ from Adirondack Brewery. One of the cousins must've picked some up. Aunt Edith brought the Stella, and Scott brought the Dos Equis, but I don't know who brought this."

"Based on the title alone, I'll take it," he said, so she passed him the beer. Taking one for herself, she stood up and closed the fridge.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, she took a bottle opener from a nearby drawer and popped her cap. He handed her his drink; she popped his cap as well.

"I never knew you were a beer-drinker," he said as she took the first sip.

"I prefer wine, but drinking wine on a warm summer day is like-"

"Leaving the party at nine," he finished for her.

She narrowed her eyes with a grin as she led then both back out through the living room and toward the patio, where various others were seated.

"Kate! Kate!" Aunt Theresa called from a lawn chair. "The kids are all looking for you."

"Let me guess," Kate said, her face fading. "They want to go swimming."

"Yep, every last one," Aunt Theresa said, nodding.

"I can take them, Kate," Castle gave quietly, trying to offer support. "It's okay."

"No, Castle," she whispered toward him, trying not to look flustered.

With that, Kate looked toward Aunt Theresa and said, "We'll go find them."

Walking away, Kate left the group, and, of course, Rick followed. She took a swig of beer while he caught up. Once they were far from the patio and were heading toward a gaggle of kids sitting near the lake, he said, "It's honestly alright, Kate. They can find someone else to go with."

"Castle, not helping."

"Sorry."

As they came up to the group of kids, the little boy from before, along with Natalie, raced up toward Kate. While Natalie took to her aunt by hugging up to Kate's leg, the little boy instead stood defiantly.

"Can we _please_ go swimming?" he asked, emphasizing the _magic word_.

"Why don't you go ask Uncle John?" Kate asked, looking down to the two kids.

The little boy scrunched up his face and said, "No! Uncle John is weird."

"Thomas, that is no way to refer to your uncle," Kate said.

"Sorry," Thomas, the little boy, said. "But it's true."

"That, it is, buddy," Kate said in a hushed tone as she brought her fingers through Natalie's curls.

"Please, Aunt Kate?" Natalie asked, looking up and giving puppy-dog eyes.

Oh, and then Kate was _smitten._ Castle would have to remember that trick, for now, Kate had second thoughts about refusing the idea. Though she herself had trouble looking at her scars, the children surely wouldn't understand the scars, would they? Children had that funny way about them, how they could spin something such as a surgery scar into a trophy. When people grew up, they lost a certain childish elegance, an elegance that Rick had hated to see Alexis lose. However, these children still had a sense of innocence in everything they did. If any group could make Kate feel more secure and comfortable with her scars, this would be that group.

"Okay," she said softly, looking down at her niece, whose lips curved into a wide smile. "Let me go put my suit on. We'll be right back out, okay?"

"Okay," Natalie said with a wide grin up to her aunt.

Slowly, Natalie let go of her aunt and returned to the group of other youngsters, and within moments, Kate retreated quickly, leaving Castle in the dust. Scurrying along to reach her, he asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"No," she responded, then took a swig of beer.

"Do you want to back out?"

"No." She took another swig of beer.

Surely enough, she trotted straight back toward the cabin, and surely enough, he followed.

* * *

They only waded in a few feet in the water; his swim trunks were wet, but the bottoms of her suit weren't. While the kids went off to swim, Kate had given them one simple rule; they had to stay where they could touch, and if they didn't, they would be sent inside for a time-out. So far, the kids had complied with ease, all - for now - too happy to be swimming than to break the rules. Though Kate wore modest suit, a black-and-white paneled neoprene bikini that still seemed more athletic than sexy, she nonetheless covered herself with a white ribbed tank top; standing in the water, she crossed her arms over her stomach as the two of them made sure that the kids were safe. In the background, the other adults chartered on; music from Simple Minds played through the speakers.

"You okay?" Castle asked her, glancing to his right and toward her.

Meeting his gaze, she nodded slowly, said, "I'm fine, Castle. Don't worry about me."

But it was getting harder and harder not to worry; she'd been up all night the night beforehand, a situation that had scared her father, so shouldn't Rick himself be scared for her as well?

"If you want to take your shirt off and go in, I'm sure none of the kids would notice," Rick said quietly.

Looking out across the lake, she nodded slowly, solemnly.

"It was weird, seeing them for the first time," she explained, though she faced the lake instead of him. "I was always bandaged up for those first few weeks. Because I was in too much pain, my Dad had to change the bandages. I don't know how he did it, Castle, look at them three times a day each day. Then, I would feel so dehumanized as he had to spoon-feed me and walk me to the bathroom; I couldn't do anything without hurting. At one point, I even forced him to turn the page in my book for me. Everything hurt, Castle, every last thing."

He looked toward her, nodded in understanding though she averted her gaze.

"When I started doing things on my own again," she continued, now speaking down toward her toes, "the worst parts of my day were the times when I had to change my bandages. It took me twenty minutes just to get up the nerve to remove them. In fact, removing the bandages wasn't even painful; I just couldn't stand the sight of the wounds, each now becoming its own scar. A more optimistic part of me hoped that they would heal without scarring, but that was such pointless hope. Eventually, they healed to the point where I could remove the bandages for good, but then, I had to spend at least a day letting them air out.

"It was the day before I was to return to the precinct, and after restocking my fridge, doing my laundry, and blocking out all of my appointments and medications for the workweek, I thought I could do anything. Then, I had to spend the day letting my scars air out. In all honesty, I thought I could just go around my apartment wearing a loose top, but apparently, that wouldn't air them out enough. Instead, I couldn't wear anything on my chest for an entire day. I had to look at the scars all day long, and after maybe half an hour, I broke.

"I had an a eye mask, a CD player, much of anything that could numb my vision. Even though they'd been there the entire time, I couldn't bear to realize that my scars were on my body. I missed pills; I forgot to eat; I didn't even realize that it was dark outside until ten in the evening, when I'd finally gained an appetite."

She paused.

"They're on my body, Castle, yet even _I_ can't bear to look at them," she said, her voice more bare than before. "I'll keep them covered until I have a reason not to."

Nodding slowly, he gave her a minute to simply watch the children as he took her in. He didn't want to pity her, but right then, he wished that no harm could ever come to her, for she didn't deserve to be haunted by the marks on the body. In fact, no one did. However, seeing Kate this unsettled, this scared, made him wish that for once, just once, she could be given a break.

_Can I give her that break?_

Looking toward her, he stepped closer to her, reached out his right arm.

"You know that you can tell me anything, right?" he asked, meeting her eyes.

With a small smile, she looked up to him, said, "Yes, I do."

"Good," he said as he brushed his hand up against hers, and taking the hint, she entwined her fingers with his.

Goodness, they were holding hands. And now she was grinning up to him, a silent and thankful look that gave him goosebumps. Maybe this is the break she needed, he thought as he took the moment in. Was she still holding his hand? He looked down, and surely enough, she was still holding his hand. Don't freak out, he told himself, but in his mind, a fourth-of-July firework show, complete with a soundtrack of American history playing in the background, was being staged. Then, in another twist of events, she slowly leaned her head against his right shoulder as she watched the kids.

Her head was on his shoulder. Her head was literally on his shoulder. Feeling his eyes bug, he tried to stop his jaw from dropping, but how could he? Her head was on his shoulder. It literally was. Pinching his thigh with his left fingertips, he assured himself he wasn't dreaming, but how could this be real? How could Kate Beckett possibly be leaning her head on his shoulder? How-

"Look," she said as she lifted her head just as easily as she'd put it down.

With her right hand - her left was still holding his right - she pointed out onto the lake, where a long, three-deck steamboat floated past.

"That's the Minnie-Ha-Ha," Kate explained. "Mom and I went on it once for a sightseeing tour when I was younger. It's a beautiful boat."

Trying still to catch his breath, he added, "I didn't know that steamboats were still used around here."

"They have a company that operates out of downtown," Kate explained. "Four ships, all beautiful. I haven't been in a long time."

"Are the sightseeing trips worthwhile?" Rick asked.

She shook her head. "Not when you've seen it all a million times over. However, I did enjoy spending time with my mother."

He nodded slowly. Then, they were silent for a long time, still hand-in-hand as they stood in the water. In a daring feat, he willed himself to softly squeeze her hand, and miraculously, she squeezed back. Next, she began to rub her thumb along his, bringing back memories of the night beforehand, during which _that_ had been wrong while _this_ had been right. In all honesty, this _did_ feel right, holding her hand as they stood in comfortable silence. Even though they both were present and were presently together, they still maintained a certain silence. He wished he could kiss her. God, he wished he could kiss her. However, this was more than enough, just standing here with her hand in his.

"Rick?" she asked later on, turning her head to look at him.

He hummed in response.

She bit her lip, then asked, "Can I tell you something?"

"You can tell me anything," he said, meeting her gaze.

As she opened her mouth to speak, a loud voice echoed from shore.

"Time to get out of the water, kids!" Uncle Ernie called out. "It's all-hands-on-deck for dinner!"

And, in seconds, she was flustered, her hand out of his as they both retreated to shore, and though he knew he shouldn't think such things, he began to plan certain ways that cooking dinner could lead to Uncle Ernie's demise. Did her uncle even know how hard it was to have Kate Beckett open up to you? Well, uh, Rick thought, he probably does. As he followed Kate into shore, his head's fourth-of-July celebration turned into a confused after-party during which no one was drunk while everyone should've been.

Maybe she'll tell me later, he thought, but nonetheless, he still would shun Uncle Ernie for the rest of the night.

* * *

"And then...oh, God, you had to be there. He was _terrified_ of the whole mummy curse. As soon as the legs on his chair went out, it was endgame. I swear, he didn't sit still for the entire case."

"Okay, that's only _her_ side of the story," Castle explained to the room full of Kate's relatives. "But, nonetheless, I _was_ scared."

"Damn right you were," Kate said as she took a sip from the Stella in her hand.

"It was warranted!" Castle tried to explain, but the room full of laughing relatives obviously didn't want his explanation.

After dinner, most of the parents of the younger kids had left, and the only remaining relatives were Aunt Edith, Aunt Theresa, Great-Aunt Lucille, a few other older and nameless relatives, and Uncle Ernie, who was still being diligently - and possibly unnecessarily - shunned by Castle. Some held drinks while others simply sat around the living room; everyone was interested in hearing about the Castle-and-Beckett escapades of the two youngest people in the room. Of course, Kate had pulled out the embarrassing stories, like the time when a dog had ripped Castle's pants or the time when Castle had nearly gotten himself killed playing poker with the Russian mobsters in Chinatown; Castle, on the other hand, was forced to clarify the stories even though none of the relatives cared about his clarifications.

"So," Aunt Edith asked, a glass of wine in hand as she lounged back on the couch, "how long have you two been working together?"

After counting the years, Castle gave, "This'll be our third year working together."

"Yes," Kate confirmed, glancing toward him.

They both stood close to the kitchen, and somehow, she'd started to lean toward him at certain times, had unnecessarily brushed her side against his in a way that seemed much more comfortable with him than she'd been recently. No matter what, he wouldn't argue with the touching, but he could only wonder why she felt more comfortable with him, for he wanted to do more of whatever had made her more comfortable with him. And laughing like this with family? She was a picture.

"How many more books do you think you'll write about Katie?" Aunt Theresa asked, her question intended for Castle.

Then, he stammered, opened his mouth to speak but couldn't seem to find words. Looking to him, Kate seemed to wonder the same question, and as he met her glance, she was solemn, as though she'd forgotten that the Nikki Heat series would have an eventual end. Though her eyes were weren't begging, they still held unspoken words.

_Please don't give up on me. Not yet. Please._

"There was never an intended count," Rick said, shrugging his shoulders and turning toward the rest of the room. Kate's eyes were still on him. "At first, Nikki Heat - based on Kate - was a character who took me out of my worst bout with writer's block, and let me tell you, such a feat could only be done by a fantastic character and by an even more fantastic muse. Anyway, I never pitched Nikki Heat as having, say, a four-book series; she was a free-flowing character who could be contracted to, maybe, three books, or she could be contracted to ten books. In all honesty, I could've written Nikki Heat's series without shadowing Kate, but there was something alluring about Kate that I couldn't exactly pinpoint; I could write in awe of it, or I could study it, and, by far, studying it was the better decision. Kate has shown me the real ways of detectives and has given me an authentic experience that could never be replicated, and I'm so thankful for that. After shadowing Kate for a while, I began to realize that my characters have always been like her, being smart, courageous, and loyal, and in the end, I was drawn to her because I thought I could only find a person like her in books, those of mine and those of other authors. Meeting Kate was a one-in-millions chance that I'm truly thankful to have had, for meeting her has fundamentally changed me as both an author and a person. My point is that I could write about Nikki for ten years, or I could write about Nikki for three, but no matter what, the experiences I've had with Detective Beckett - Kate - will always be woven into my books from now on, as the stories she has shared with me will always be a part of my life."

A momentary pause came, during which the room seemed to take his words in. Was there sweat on his brow? There most definitely was sweat on his brow, for once again, so many sets of Beckett eyes were staring at him, yet Kate's were the only pair that seemed to matter. Then, her gaze went down, but once he ventured a glance to her, he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips, as though she couldn't have imagined a better admission to hear. As he took a sip from the beer in his hand, she matched him.

"So," Aunt Theresa asked, interrupting the silence, "when's the wedding?"

Choking on her beer, Kate was evidently flustered, so Castle took over the conversation, swallowed before shaking his head and offering, "We aren't-"

"Oh, we all know _that_ already!" Aunt Edith said, teasing. "We just know that a different _that_ is impending. That's all."

As Kate swallowed, her eyes remained down, this time not holding the ghost of a smile.

"Anyone want cookies before we head out?" Aunt Theresa asked. "They're fresh!"

And then the rest of the room was filled with motion, and as family members went by pass by the two of them, Kate moved closer to Rick, and he, in return, moved closer to her as well. Though movement and noise filled the room, he could only think of her, and with their sides touching so closely, he hardly wanted to move, not even an inch. Then, she brought her open hand up to his, and down by their hips, their fingers entwined once more. This time, she wasn't leaning her head against his shoulder, and he wasn't about to hear some admission of hers, but somehow, just standing like this was more than enough. While everyone else fawned over cookies, he took in her scent - still of cherries but now also holding a mixture of fresh air, beer, and whipped cream from that _heavenly_ chocolate cream pie - and as she squeezed his hand ever-so-gently, he squeezed back.

This was enough. Hell, this was_ more_ than enough, for she had initiated it.

"So you'll always have a bit of Nikki left in you?" she asked while the rest of the room was involved in other conversations.

As she glanced toward him, she held an almost-joking smile, but nonetheless, he said in a serious tone, "It's not Nikki who'll always be a part of me, but I can still say yes to that question."

She nodded, looked down with a blushing smile.

"Always?" she asked, looking up to meet his eyes.

And then that ghost of a smile came to his lips as well.

"Always," he agreed.

Yes, this was _far_ more than enough.

* * *

Though sharing one bathroom among three people was a feat in and of itself, they managed it with a fair amount of ease; Jim had gone to bed at least an hour before Kate and Rick had started getting ready for bed, and as he would, Rick offered Kate the bathroom first, and surprisingly, she was quick with her routines; he, however, had to shave, needed to put on lotion, and was practically required to use whitening strips, so when he left the bathroom, he was hardly surprised to see that she'd taken to the couch with her book.

There were many sides of her that he favored in particular - the gun-wielding and ass-kicking side had been his first draw to her, but then, seeing the getting-a-post-case-burger-and-shake-after-a-failed-date side had forced him to reevaluate exactly which sides of hers he truly favored, the more he got to know her - but this side, the newly-shown comfortable side, was beginning to become his favorite. Back when she'd stayed with him after her apartment had been bombed, she'd worn his red shirt and sweats in the kitchen, and then, he'd had a glimpse of the comfortable version of Kate Beckett, the introvert who ruled her own domestic life. Now, seeing her reading while wearing a well-loved Stanford tee shirt and a pair of yoga pants, he swore he'd never seen her look more beautiful.

"Finished _The Brothers_, I see?" he asked as he sat down next to her on the couch. "Or, as I should add, finished it again?"

He sat closer to her than he would've that morning but farther away from her than he'd been when she'd held his hand earlier. Closing the cover of her book over his fingers, he saw that she was reading a newer John Grisham novel; we was hardly surprised by her taste in books anymore. As she set the book down on the coffee table, she turned toward him, moved closer to him so that their thighs touched. Glancing up to meet his gaze, she held her mouth slight ajar, then bit her lip as she looked down again. She took one of his hands and held it between both of hers. As she looked up again, she met his gaze timidly.

"There's something I have to tell you," she said, sounding unsure of her words.

"You can tell me anything," he repeated from earlier as he moved closer to her, as the moment became more intimate.

Then, it crossed his mind; could this be it? Could she possibly be admitting to loving him? Could this be the last moment of their current partnership, leading into the first moment of their next partnership? Oh, goodness, he wanted it to be. He wanted to hear her say something, _anything_, to tell him that she felt the same way. Then, he wanted to kiss her, wanted to kiss her until he couldn't breathe, and even when he couldn't breathe anymore, he wanted to keep kissing her anyway. And he wanted to hold her - goodness, he _really_ wanted to hold her - and he wanted her to feel safe and jovial and loved as he wrapped his arms around her. Even though she hadn't said anything, he could already sense that the rest of their night would be a night spent with grins and admissions and so, so much love.

Somehow, this felt oddly unlike any admission he could've imagined even though he'd never truly imagined her saying those three words back to him. Though he'd imagined being with her, he'd never actually imagined her admission. What had he expected her to do? Say those three words as "Can't Fight This Feeling" played in the background? Was he expecting fireworks? No, this was _far_ better than anything he could possibly imagine, for she was so close to him, and he was so close to her, and maybe - just maybe - they could be even closer in a few moments.

She couldn't meet his eyes, instead stared at their hands as she admitted, "I lied before."

For a moment, he was still, but then he realized what she'd said. That wasn't an admission of love. In fact, that was fairly far from being an admission of love.

Taking back one of her hands, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, then went back to holding his hands. She stroked his thumb gently, and though he would've embraced the action normally, he hung on her next words, so he looked past the action.

"On the day of the shooting," she said, breathing out as she spoke, her voice gravelly and cracking, "I can remember standing at the podium. Hell, I can even remember what I said right before everything happened. When I looked to you, I remember seeing the look in your eyes, Castle."

He was still, too still. Reminding himself to breathe, he listened on.

"And I can remember the sound of the shot," she continued, though she sounded as though she regretted each and every word that rolled off of her tongue. "I can remember hearing you say my name, having you try to push me out of the way. I can remember the feeling of losing my breath as the bullet went through my skin. No matter how much I try to block it out of my mind, I remember seeing the blood on my gloves, feeling as though I couldn't catch my breath, being scared as hell while you held me there. And then I remember how you told me to stay with you. I remember how you held me there, as close as you could, and how you told me that I had to stay with you."

She took a heavy breath in, shifted before continuing even though he didn't want to hear her continue.

"I can remember everything you said, Rick," she turned, looking up to face him. Her eyes were glazed over, like blown glass orbs with a glossy finish. "And I tried desperately to say it back, but I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't speak, and..."

She trailed off as she averted her gaze momentarily, then met his eyes once more. Taking one of her hands away from his, she leaned up toward him, held the side of his face in her hand.

"I love you, Rick," she whispered as she looked him in the eyes. "I love you. I _love_ you."

And then she led her mouth up to his, let the sides of their noses touch as she ventured her open mouth toward his own, but then, his eyes were open, and he was too still, so she ghosted her mouth back; he turned his head to face the center of the living room.

Slowly but surely, she took her hand away from his face, let their clasped hands separate, and as she looked toward him, she asked him quietly, "What's wrong?"

After a pregnant pause, he gave, "You lied."

"Yes, I did," she admitted, now uncomfortable, "and I'm sorry, Castle."

"Why did you lie?" he asked, his voice gaining a sense of indifference.

Meeting his eyes, she stammered as she tried to find words.

"I was with someone else at the time," she said, flustered, "and I wasn't in the right place, and, Castle, I-"

"So you only love me when it's convenient to you."

The words hit her like a knife to the chest; she retreated back even farther, each muscle in her body suddenly tense. As he looked at her, such silent anger in his eyes, she felt as though she couldn't breathe.

"No," she tried to say, "Rick, I-"

"You lied to me about one of the most important things in your life," he said, trying not to raise his voice even though his voice raised anyway.

Now, he was standing up, and she suddenly felt very, very small.

"You lied to me because things weren't convenient," he said. "You didn't want to tell me you loved me while you were with someone else, so you lied your way out of it and figured that no harm could come from it. Well, Kate, I'm forgetting something; don't you value the truth, above all else? Haven't you told me that truth always conquers? Yet here you are, admitting that you lied your way out of an admission I'd had. That's great to see. And for two months, I didn't hear a word about you, not even a single call to say that you were alright," he continued. "You said you would call, yet you didn't. Right, because calling would've been an inconvenience, and we can't have any of those, can we?"

"Castle-"

"No!" he said, interrupting her as she stood up as well. "And _I'm_ supposed to be the one who charms their way out of every situation. This is _manipulative_, Kate! You go from refusing to back down to suddenly being in love with me, and by now, I've got whiplash."

"_Rick_," she tried desperately, her voice becoming thick as she held back.

"I don't care what you have to say," he said, shaking his head. "Honestly, I don't, and after hearing that, I _can't_ care about any excuse you have to give. Every day, I am put in harm's way because of you, yet I stuck around because I thought that we had something together. Turns out, I was wrong. If you want an I-told-you-so, take it. I'm done."

With that, he retreated toward the bedroom and left her in the dust. As he returned, he held a pillow and a blanket, and while she watched from afar, he set the bedspreads down on the couch.

"I'll stay the weekend - only because I can't get out of here any sooner - and after that, I'll pack up anything I have at the precinct," he said as he went to lie down.

She was silent for a long while as he settled in on the couch, and as he pulled a blanket over himself, he watched as a single tear leaked from her eye. Clawing away at it, she pushed the tear off of her cheek, willed the rest not to fall, and suddenly, he felt remorse. Remorse? Why the hell was he feeling _remorse?_ And then he was reminded that, at the end of the day, he really, truly, honestly did love her. Now, the whole _loving her_ aspect of things was making the _hating her_ part so much harder. She was manipulative, dishonest, frustrating, and self-centered, yet he loved her, hated so greatly that he still loved her. Watching her, he saw how betrayed she looked, how she cowered into her shirt, how she seemed shorter than usual.

Breaking the silence, she tried to be strong as she asked, "What about Nikki?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he offered, "She wasn't the character I made her out to be."

With that, she was down, her cheekbones sinking even further, her face going pale as she met his gaze. Her muscles were tense, unmoving as she stood there, but then, she willed them to move, forced herself to walk back to the bedroom. As she disappeared from his sight, he heard the bedroom door open and close, and within moments, creaking floorboards gave telltale signs that she was climbing into bed. The sounds ceased; whatever she had done, she was now in bed, and maybe she would fall asleep.

He both hated himself and commended himself. This is what she needed to hear, he reminded himself whenever he felt that pang of remorse; he didn't deserve to be manipulated for her comfort. In fact, no one did. However, he still loved her, still wished he could go into that room, climb into bed with her, and apologize profusely in between neck kisses. She'd said it, actually said it, yet this was not the way he'd wanted her to say it. To him, such an admission deserved perseverance, truth, pure love; instead, she sounded as though she had an additional item on her to-do list. Then again, he _wanted_ to hear those words, and of the entire statement, those three words had sounded the most honest, the most raw. As all of his feelings conflicted, he tried not think, for she wasn't worth his time, yet at the same time, he knew she was.

And then there was the couch, the world's least comfortable place to sleep. He dared not shift positions, for then the Becketts would hear him, and he didn't want her to know that he was uncomfortable. No, he needed willpower, so he dared the living room light to stay on as he closed his eyes.

Surely enough, he knew he wouldn't get any sleep tonight.

* * *

He woke to the sound of a scream.

Looking down at his watch - which, this time, was still on his wrist - he saw that it was just past two in the morning; they'd both turned in for bed around ten, and he'd managed to fall asleep by eleven even though his thoughts were still endless. He leaned up, looked around to see that the living room lights were still on. As the single screech he'd been woken up by echoed off of the walls, he slowly stood up, needed to know what was wrong. However, the house seemed still suddenly, like a snowed-in highway right after a car accident; once the initial crash sounded, a silence, like the snow, fell in treacherous blankets over the wreckage, still a threat despite the silence.

Momentarily, Rick heard a door quickly open, and as someone ran quickly through the hallway, he or she opened another door, quickly shut the door behind them, and breathily echoed, "_Kate._"

The house was silent once more, and now, Rick knew that whatever had happened, it had led her father to wake up and race to her side as quickly as possible. Had he heard the argument? No, Rick thought, he couldn't have; he hadn't reacted, and had her father heard him say those things, Rick himself would've been kicked out of the house with the utmost ease. Whatever was going on, Castle was desperate to know, so he stepped toward the bedroom, made sure to be quiet as he avoided the creakier floorboards. Silently, he crept up to the closed bedroom door and tried to listen in on what was going on.

He could hear her panting and thrashing, as though she couldn't breathe no matter how hard she tried; as she slowed her breaths, her father whispered, "It isn't real, Kate. None of it is. It's not happening again. You're safe."

Continually, Jim repeated those phrases as well as variations of them; he could hear her panicked breathing with ease. Once she stopped thrashing, the room was quieter, only filled with the sounds of her troubled breathing and of her father's words of comfort.

"Where's your book?" Jim asked her.

Suddenly, Rick remembered that Kate had left the John Grisham novel on the coffee-table, so he quickly headed out to retrieve it. Though he was mad, the sound of her wheezing in panic would hurt anyone, even the man who shot her, and the part of him that loved her needed her to be alright, so he picked up the book. Then, the bookshelf next to the couch distracted him; looking up, he saw a long line of classic novels, from _Little Women_ to an assortment of Charles Dickens. Though they weren't in alphabetical order, he still enjoyed the order of this bookcase; next came Russian novels, starting with the ones in English and ending with the ones in Russian, and after the Russian novels, there were a series of mystery novels, starting with Patterson, Grisham, certain works by King. At the end of the row, a group of his books were shelved. Reaching out, he took _Heat Wave_ into his hand, but surprisingly, the novel was much thicker than he remembered it being. As he took the book off of the shelf, he saw that the book-jacket was folded up in places; the book inside of the jacket was far too big for the jacket itself. Taking the jacket off of the book, he looked at the bare cover only to see transcribed Russian words, all of which he didn't understand.

It hit him like a train, the revelation of why the book jacket was there; she'd put a Russian book-jacket over her copy of _Heat Wave_ so that he wouldn't know what she was reading. When she'd woken up in the middle of the night likely in a panicked frenzy, she'd reached to his words for comfort. She'd gone for his book in order to ground herself. Only moments earlier, he'd said that he could stop writing Nikki Heat with ease; he'd cut off a lifeline of hers, and suddenly, he stopped feeling ashamed of the remorse.

He still held the Russian novel and the Grisham novel in his hands when he returned to the bedroom door. Though Kate's breathing had regulated, he could still sense nervousness in the air.

"Where's the roommate?" Jim asked, trying to be light-hearted.

Quietly, Kate paused, then said, "We fought. He's on the couch."

"You got him to sleep on that couch?" Jim asked, laughing. "He really must've pissed you off."

"He volunteered."

Her words were solemn and stark, so her father tried, "So _you_ really pissed him off."

Though it was silent, Castle could hear her nodding.

"That couldn't have sat well with you," Jim said. "But I know you. I bet you didn't even cry."

She gave a light, soft laugh, then said, "I did, but not that much."

"I'm sorry."

She paused before saying, "I'm sorry too."

They were silent then, and as Castle stood there, he wondered what was going through her mind. What if he had made her wake up like this? At the thought, he didn't know if he could live with himself. Now, he wanted to take everything back, to apologize, but at the same time, he didn't want to apologize. God, why did she have to be this frustrating?

"Do you want to talk about it?" her father asked.

"Not particularly," she said.

"Okay," her father offered.

A long pause came.

"How long have these been happening?" he asked slowly.

She sighed out a long breath.

"The night after my first day on the job, they came back," Kate admitted.

"That soon?" her father asked, surprised. "Katie, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because there's nothing you can do about it," she said sullenly.

And Rick knew that feeling, the feeling of not being able to protect your child from the world. Though he knew he couldn't, he wished he could tell Jim Beckett that he understood.

"Are you still seeing your therapist?" Jim asked.

_She's seeing a therapist?_

Kate responded with, "Yes."

"Does anyone else know you're seeing a therapist?"

"No, not even my work partners," Kate admitted. "I've been..."

"You've been what?"

Admitting, Kate said, "I've been going to the gym in the precinct every day at lunch so that my work partners don't know where I am during that time. That way, when I see Doctor Burke twice a month, no one questions my absence."

And that was so like her, as Rick knew, for she couldn't show weakness, not to anyone. Remembering, he thought of how her father had come to see him, had told him that Kate had stared down night-lights as a kid in order to prove that she could go without one; she was stubborn as hell, and she would never show weakness, not even if her life depended on it.

"That's oddly like you," Jim admitted, laughing lightly.

Though he didn't, Rick wanted to laugh as well. Her father was correct.

"Does Doctor Burke have you on any medications for this?" Jim asked her.

"No," she said. "He wasn't sure how they would interact with pain medications, so we figured we'd try other approaches before we medicated. Because I'm still in physical therapy, he's reluctant to give me pills just yet."

_She's still in physical therapy?_

"Has he helped you with coping with these?" Jim asked.

"He's helped some," Kate said. "For now, he's helped me very much with the other things. The sounds of gunshots, having a gun pointed at me...he's helped with the field work."

"But the nightmares?"

She sighed once more.

"I'm not sure anyone other than myself could stop them, and hell, I can't even stop them."

"You should've told me that they were happening again."

"As I've already been reminded once tonight, I should've done a lot of things."

"I'm fairly sure that this is my cue to go."

"Get some sleep, Dad. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"One-hundred percent."

"Okay."

Then, he heard her father stand up, so Rick frenzied to figure out where to go. Because he couldn't find an escape route, he stood there like a deer in headlights as Jim opened the door. Looking Rick up and down, Jim saw the man, then looked toward Kate, who sat up on her bed.

"You two," he said, pointing between the two of them, "need to figure this all out before someone gets an ulcer."

Jim left the bedroom, then headed down the hallway toward his own bedroom. As he opened and closed the bedroom door behind himself, he escaped from Rick's view, then fell silent. In moments, Rick took a few steps into the bedroom, looked down at where she sat on her bed.

Groggy and annoyed, she looked to Castle and said, "Go away."

"Kate, just-"

"Just, _no!_" she said. "Get out!"

"Please, Kate," he begged. "_Please._"

She closed her eyes softly, took a breath in, and sighed out the words that were on her mind. Taking steps closer, he found that she wasn't pushing him away for the moment; as he came into the room, he put both books into one hand and used the other to shut the bedroom door. Her book light was the only illumination in the room; as she motioned for him to come join her, he gingerly sat down at the foot of her bed, crossed his legs as she refused to meet his eyes.

"How much did you hear?" she asked softly.

"Kate-"

"Be honest."

Sighing, he said, "Most all of it. When you screamed, I woke up."

She held a reluctant, frustrated, annoyed half-smile.

"Great," she said.

"I'll listen, Kate," he said, trying to apologize without apologizing. "I wouldn't before, but I'm here, and I'll listen. I promise, Kate, that I will."

She met his gaze for a moment, then nodded into her lap.

"It's not going to change anything," she said, shaking her head. "Explaining it, I mean. You're not going to feel differently."

"Challenge me to, then," he said. "Please, Kate. I want to know."

She let out a breath and said, "Okay."

A pregnant pause came, so he stretched his legs out alongside hers. As their knees brushed against each other, the ghost of a smile came over her lips, and suddenly, all of those feelings of love came rushing back; she was frustrating beyond compare, but, God, he loved her, and no matter how hard he tried to hold something against her, he couldn't possibly hate her.

"During my second night in the hospital," she explained to her lap, "I woke up that way, screaming and panting and terrified. While I'd been asleep, I'd had a nightmare of the shooting all over again. It was kismet, you know? The details were perfect; I gave the speech, I looked toward you, the bullet was fired..."

She paused, then continued.

"And when I woke up, the last thing I saw was you hovering over me, but before you could say anything, I was awake, and I was screaming, and I thrashed around in bed so much that two nurses had to tie me down," she admitted, her voice sounding embarrassed. "I was in so much pain the next day, Castle. Though I'd planned on calling you, I couldn't even lift a phone. The drugs hardly did a thing. Even my doctors were worried; they feared that I'd pulled stitches. From that night on, I requested that they tie me down, and surely enough, I woke up the same way each night.

"It went on long after I'd been released from the hospital. For a while, my Dad tried to research what was happening, but he couldn't find any way to help me. Instead, I tried to comfort myself, but it was to no use. I couldn't make it through a night without seeing the shooting play out again. There weren't any comforting words at the end; I just was hit and put down."

"Kate," he said, his voice solemn, apologetic.

"So that's why I lied," she said, "because I could never be with someone, be in _love_ with someone, if I couldn't even sleep through a night. I could never be physically intimate with someone if I had to lie to them about, say, why I couldn't spend a night with them. Even at work, I'd had to lie to Ryan and Esposito about why I was so tired. I couldn't forge a relationship made of millions of lies, Castle, so I tried one lie instead of millions. And it hurt, Castle; it hurt not being able to talk to you because I knew that you would console me and hold me and _help_ me. However, I couldn't drag you around with those kinds of feelings, so I held back, and I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry that I made a bad situation even worse. I'm truly sorry, Castle. Though I don't deserve someone like you, I love you, and I want more than anything else to be with you, but if you can't forgive me, I understand. I'm sorry, Castle, and I promise that I won't drag anyone else around again. The mistakes I've made now will be past mistakes, not recurring ones. The truth will be my weapon to wield once more, and I'll stick to knowing that."

She paused momentarily as she met his eyes.

"Can I show you something?" she asked.

"Of course," he said.

In slow, unsure moments, she slowly pulled her shirt up over her stomach, revealing skin that rolled from the position she was sitting in. He was surprised that she still covered both of her scars, the surgical scar and the shooting scar; the tee shirt remained over her breasts and against her side, but her entire stomach, right up to her ribcage, was uncovered. Then, he saw it, the little black lines right beneath her left breast. Keeping his eyes on the tattoo, he tried to make out what it meant.

"правда," she proudly said, sounding like_ bravdeh_. "Russian, for truth."

He wasn't sure if he was more alarmed or fascinated, but as she glanced down at the mark, she explained, "Mom used to always say that truth conquered all. A little while after she passed, I spent a semester abroad in Kiev, and there, I had this done as a reminder that the truth was mine to tell."

She covered her stomach back up with the shirt, then continued.

"She always loved saying _I told you so_, and it used to drive me mad," Kate said, now smiling; he was thankful to see her comfortable once more. "Right now, she'd have a _ball_ with those four words."

Then, he laughed as well, to match her.

"I wish she could've met you, Castle," Kate said, shaking her head as her gaze went back down. "She would've adored you."

"Really?" Rick asked, surprised.

"Even when you drove me bonkers, she would've been sitting on the sidelines, all smug and knowing," Kate said, a wide grin on her lips as she looked toward him.

"I wish I could've met her," he said, nodding toward Kate. "I wish..."

He stopped there.

"There's a lot of things I could wish for," he explained as he shifted, moved closer to her. He edged up toward the headboard, where she sat, and as he sat alongside her, she moved over, gave him some space even though they were cramped next to each other and both nearly falling off of the bed. "But, right now, I don't want to have to wish anymore."

He took one of her hands in his.

"Katherine Beckett," he said, meeting her gaze, "You are the most stubborn, maddening, challenging, frustrating person I have ever met, and I love you. I love you more than I can ever say."

As the most feint of smiles took her lips, he added, "I mean, we _could_ wait until tomorrow, you know, when our heads are clearer, but, I mean-"

"Shut up and kiss me, Castle," she whispered toward him.

"Fine," he said.

"Fine," she agreed.

And then he wrapped an arm around the small of her back, pulled her closer as their lips met; softly, gently, he kissed her there, as she kissed back, they were slow and wanting. Despite the lust between them, they both drew the kiss out, kept it long and luxurious, like a warm bath. As she draped her arms around the back of his neck, she pulled him closer, needing his body against hers. And the breathy moan she gave against his mouth? He was smitten, too smitten, smitten beyond words, for this woman, this absolutely frustrating woman, was kissing him, and he couldn't imagine a way to be happier. While he kissed her, she tasted like toothpaste and thankfulness; he wouldn't let any moment go to waste.

"I love you," she breathed against him as their mouths pulled away. "And I'm sorry."

"I love you too, and I'm sorry as well," he said, cupping her cheek in his hand.

"And I hate to ruin a moment," she admitted with a lip bite, "but we don't fit on this bed."

"Let's solve that, then," Rick said, slowly standing up and moving out of her grasp.

As he went to walk over toward the bedside table, she reached out to him, said, "Wait, wait, wait."

Turning around, he saw her grabbing his hand, and as she leaned up toward him, he met her midway for another kiss, this one short and chaste.

"All better," she said as she pulled back. "Carry on."

He laughed as he shook his head toward her, then lifted up the bedside table and moved it to another side of the room. With force, he pushed his twin bed next to hers, and as he went to lounge on his side of the now queen-size bed, she laughed as well, motioned for him to come closer. Taking her in his arms, he lay on his side while she lay on her own, both facing each other at the center. It was a hug of sorts, this embrace of theirs that they gave as they lay on their sides; he wrapped his arms around her as she wrapped her arms around him. Then, he kissed her neck, whispered against her jaw, "I love you, Kate."

As her lips curved into a wider smile, she whispered back, "I love you too, Rick."

"Can I do something?" he asked as they held each other closer.

"Sure?"

With a grin, he brought one hand down her back and grabbed her ass. As she laughed, she begged, "Really?"

"Hey! You owe me one!"

"And now you're honestly on to _owing?_"

"Well, kind of. You did that to me, so I get to do it to you," he said. "Plus, I've wanted to do that for a _long_ time."

"And you think I hadn't felt the same way?"

"Well, until tonight, yes."

"Fair point. Carry on."

He squeezed her ass once more.

"Okay. Stop."

"So demanding."

"You should see me in bed."

Moving back from their embrace, he glanced around, as if surveying the scene.

"Beckett?" he asked her, meeting her gaze.

"What, Castle?" she asked, a little smile still on her lips.

"I may be mistaken," he admitted, "but it seems to be that we are, in fact, _in bed._"

"Funny business? Seriously?" she asked. "After a turmoil of emotional admissions, you _honestly_ are still thinking about sex?"

"Sex? No!" he said quickly. "Your father is two rooms down. I'm not that stupid. Instead, _Beckett_, I was simply surveying they we are, in fact, in a bed."

"That's your story, and you're sticking to it, aren't you."

"Damn right, I am."

"I love you."

"I love you more."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Do not.

"Do too."

"Then, prove it."

"Gladly."

In a slow motion, he brought his lips back up to hers, kissed her again as he pulled her body closer. Kissing him back, she ran her hands through his hair, laughed lightly as he bit her bottom lip. Then, he went to her neck, kissed her there but dared not pull too hard - he was preserving her dignity in front of her family, bless that man - and as she held him there, she swore that any pain they'd gone through for each other or because of each other was so entirely worth it.

"Have I," kiss, "proven my," kiss, "point," kiss, "yet?" Castle asked.

"I," she managed, but as he came back up to her lips, she was silenced in the best of ways.

"What?" he asked in between kisses.

"Not working," she said, pulling back. "I'm not convinced."

"How can I convince you, then?" he asked.

"Do that about ten more times within the next twenty-four hours, and then we'll talk," she said, nodding quickly.

"Got it."

Looking down at his watch, she said, "It's four in the morning."

"Great," he said. "Kiss me more."

As he leaned up to kiss her again, she put her pointer finger against his lips, said, "Nope."

"Bec_kett_," he groaned.

"While I'm complimented that you don't want to stop, I'm tired, and you're tired," she said.

"When we have kids, you're going to be the parent that they don't ask when it comes to things like car keys and twenty-dollar bills, aren't you."

"See? You say things like that when you're tired. We've been together for a grand total of, maybe, ten minutes, so I'm going to let that one slide."

He pouted.

"You're no fun."

"You know, now I'm going to have to prove that wrong."

His lips perked up in a smile.

"Good," he said.

"Good," she said. "Now, be my big spoon."

Doing as he was told, he cozied up against her, let her turn onto her other side as he hugged around her stomach. While she pulled a blanket over both of them - they were forced to share a pillow, yet for now, they didn't mind - he leaned forward, kissed the side of her face, and said, "I love you."

"I love you too," she said as she moved closer toward him.

"You're beautiful," he whispered to her as he brought a kiss to her neck.

"You're not half bad yourself, Castle," she said as she took his hand in hers and squeezed.

He kissed her jaw, right by her earlobe, and gave a final, "Goodnight, _my love._"

She matched with, "Goodnight, _babe._"

"I like this. A lot."

"I like this a lot too. Now, go to bed."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Pausing for a moment, he silenced as she reached over and turned her book light off. In the dark, he breathed her in, tried to prove to himself that this moment was real. He loved her, loved her so much, and she loved him as well, and now, they could build as people together, and he was thankful, beyond thankful. Whispering, he said one last thing.

"Always?" he asked her, his voice a whisper against her ear.

She laughed lightly, a smile-out-loud.

"Always," she matched as she squeezed his hand.

And, at four o'clock in the damned morning, the world seemed to mend itself.


	4. Sunday Morning

_Disclaimer: I really don't like writing disclaimers._

_A/N: This chapter took a long time because I wrote almost all of it, scrapped a lot of it, reworked everything from there, and added a bunch more. Oops. At the beginning, everything went well, but then, many scenes seemed boring and out of character, so I chucked them. Again, I will be out and about starting tomorrow (Saturday) until the following Saturday, so I will not be updating until then. Though I will still be writing, I simply won't be able to post. And maybe - just maybe - I'll have some new surprises for you guys when I get back. Thank you once more for all of the kind reviewers. You guys honestly make my day._

* * *

As Kate woke the next morning, a smile was already upon her lips.

He loved her. She loved him. They loved each other. Somehow, the rest of the world seemed so small when she could wrap her arms around him and feel at home. Throughout the night, she'd slept soundly, had been comforted by the close warmth he'd offered her. Ever since the shooting, she hadn't been in bed with a man; Josh hadn't dared touch her while she was recovering, so even before the breakup, she still hadn't slept next to a man. The loneliness she'd found in bed was frightening, for she could've easily mended it, yet she couldn't have mended it without exposing certain parts of herself that would make anyone back away with ease. However, Castle had held her, had made her feel safe, and though she knew he could never stop the nightmares, she felt comfort knowing that he would never judge her for them; instead, he would give her any help that he could, and from there, he would love her unconditionally. He was more than enough, far more, and somehow, she was lucky enough to be loved by him.

However, she found the bed cold as she woke. Her smile turned into a frown; she sat up slowly, looked behind her only to see his bed pushed against hers. Had she made it up in her mind? God, she had, hadn't she. She'd pushed the beds together and pretended. Most likely, he was still out sleeping on the couch. He probably hadn't even-

The bedroom door cracked open, illuminating the room more than the crevices between the window and the window-shade could. Standing there, he held two mugs filled with coffee in his hands. As he saw her, his lips curled up.

"I made you a coffee," he said softly, passing her a mug as she leaned against the headboard.

"So," she said, taking the cup and smiling, "it wasn't a dream."

Walking over to the window, he opened the blinds, laughed lightly as he said, "We definitely weren't dreaming."

She took a sip of coffee. As always, this was a perfect cup, made exactly the way she liked it. Coming over to his side of the bed, he scooted onto the bed, moved closer to her so that their sides touched. Then, he cozied up against her, both of them holding their coffees on their laps.

"You know," she said as she leaned her head upon his shoulder, "I usually sleep on the right."

"Actually, I didn't know that," he clarified, "but if you want the right side, I'd be glad to give it up."

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Want to? I sleep on the left, Kate. If I hadn't had a gorgeous woman on the left side of the bed last night, I would've taken that side."

Of course, she had to blush, had to grin at the little comment.

"I love you," she said as he took a sip of his coffee.

"I love you too," he said after he swallowed.

"What time is it?" she asked.

Checking his watch, he said, "Around eleven in the morning."

"_Eleven?_" she asked, flabbergasted.

Leaning up, she met his gaze, surprise evident in her eyes.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she asked.

"Mind you, I myself have only been awake long enough to make these," he pointed to the coffees, "and plus, you were still sleeping, you're on vacation, and you'd had a late night. You deserved to sleep."

She didn't want to argue any points she could have, for his reasoning was better. Instead, she sipped her coffee, gave an internal _ah_ at the sweet, deep flavor.

"Rick?" she asked in between coffee sips.

He hummed in response.

She bit her lip, then asked, "What are we going to do about today?"

"What do you mean, about today?"

"Well, I, for one, am only holding back uncensored displays of affection because I have the _worst_ morning breath, so I can't imagine what _you're_ going to try in front of my relatives."

"While I'm both offended and touched by that statement, I guess it is important," he said. "We could keep saying that we aren't together."

"Even when I get pointlessly giggly over something?"

"_You_ can giggle?"

"Hypothetically, Castle. And not the point."

"We could just not say anything," he posed.

"And let everyone figure it out?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, I guess that would be the best thing we could do."

"Yeah."

"Or..." she paused, trailing off and looking shy.

"Or?" he asked.

"Or," she continued, "I could just introduce you as my boyfriend from now on."

Letting his lips curl into a tiny smile, he said, "My, Detective Beckett, I would like nothing more."

And then he leaned in to kiss her, but she pushed him away, said, "Castle. Morning breath."

"It can't be anything breakup-worthy."

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

"I don't care. Let me kiss you."

"You'll complain."

"No, I won't."

He paused.

"_Please_ may I kiss you?" he asked, almost pouting as she went to deny him.

"Fine," she gave in, "but don't say that I didn't warn you."

His lips perked up.

"Good."

As he leaned in to kiss her, she clumsily kissed him back, and within moments, he was groaning against her mouth.

"Beckett," kiss, "that is some of," kiss, "_the_ worst morning," kiss, "breath that I have ever," kiss, "tasted."

"Don't say," kiss, "I didn't warn you."

"It tastes like something," kiss, "died in there. I," kiss, "love you."

And then he was practically on top of her, their coffee cups dangerously swaying on the mattress. As he kissed her more and more, she kissed back fervently; pulling him closer, she echoed those three words into his ear.

"Castle," she warned in between kisses. "Hot liquid. Near my leg. Not into."

"Fine," he said, sitting back up and pulling away from the kiss.

Passing her back one of the mugs, he let her sit up as well; they both went back to sit against the headboard. She took a sip of her coffee; with a groan, she passed it toward him.

"This is yours, not mine," she said. "How can you put that much sugar in this stuff?"

"Says Miss _Vanilla Syrup_," he countered as they swapped mugs.

"Touché," she offered.

They both took a sip of their respective coffee.

"Castle?" she asked after a moment's pause.

He hummed in response.

"I know this probably isn't on your mind," she said, "but..."

"But what?"

"The whole aspect of, well," she said, stammering as she looked down at her lap. "Well, sexual interaction. I'm, um, not quite..."

"If you want to wait, we can wait," he said.

"Oh, no," she said, quickly shaking her head toward him and meeting his eyes. "Not at all. I don't want to wait at all. In fact, I'd jump you right now if I could, but the walls here are _way_ too thin. It's not that I want to wait."

"Then what is it?"

She sighed.

"I haven't exactly been cleared in physical therapy for high-stamina activities," she explained. "I'm not supposed to run more than a mile, I'm not supposed to bike for more than thirty minutes, and I'm not supposed to lift weights over thirty pounds. For now, I can't exactly...perform."

"You're saying that you only have enough stamina to run a mile?" he asked, a bit surprised. "Kate, I'm intrigued by this idea of _performing in bed_ that you have, for it seems that you're far more advanced than I'd imagined."

She gave him that look of hers.

"I'm just saying," she explained, "that I'm probably not going to be great in bed. At least, not right now."

"Great in bed, schmate in bed," he said, leaning down and pecking her cheek. "So long as we're in the same bed, I don't care what happens."

A small smile came to her lips.

"Thanks, Castle."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

They paused to take coffee sips once more.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Starving," she said.

"Homemade pancakes for breakfast?"

"Now I _really_ want to jump you."

"Hush, woman. We'll get to that part eventually. For now, let's get you fed."

Standing up, he reached a hand out to her, slowly tugged her out of bed behind himself. As they both headed into the kitchen, they still held hands.

"Good morning, you two," Jim Beckett said from the kitchen, where he stood fully-dressed. "Work out whatever you were fighting about?"

"Maybe," Kate said. "Where's the flour? We're making pancakes."

"At the crack of noon?" Jim asked, laughing. "Make extra. We'll have leftovers for breakfast tomorrow."

"Okay, Dad," she said as she let go of Rick's hand and meandered her way into the kitchen.

"People are arriving around two," her father said. "Make sure you're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by then."

"Got it, Dad," Kate gave.

As she passed by him, she kissed her father's cheek, then headed into the cabinets in search of flour.

"Rick? Mind if I pull you aside?" Jim asked in a hushed tone so that Kate couldn't hear.

Shaking his head, Rick followed as Jim escorted him into the mudroom, out of earshot of Kate.

"Though I don't have the details, you and my daughter seem to have gotten somewhere in this partnership of yours," Jim said.

_Shit._

He was getting_ the talk_, the fateful _break my daughter's heart and you'll be a dead man_ talk. Though he and Kate had only admitted things seven hours ago, had only clarified terms moments beforehand, he was already getting _the talk._ And, as the icing on the cake, he was still in his pajamas.

"I figured this would be the case ever since she told me that you were coming along," Jim admitted, laughing lightly, "so I prepared a few things."

From his pocket, Jim pulled out a stack of brochures, passed it to Rick. Uncertainly, Rick took the pile.

"Take her out somewhere nice," Jim said, nodding quickly. "Those are all of the good places downtown that I know of. If worst comes to worst, I'm sure you know how to improvise. Sundays are never as fun as Saturdays here. so you'll both be in for a treat."

Trying to find words, Rick managed, "Okay."

"Give her a good time, got it?" Jim said, patting Rick's back twice. "She's had a rough few months, as you've likely had as well. Kick back and relax for once."

"Okay," Rick said. "I'll figure something out."

"Good. Now go carry on with those pancakes."

"Okay."

As Jim retreated to his bedroom, Rick went back to the kitchen, where he saw Kate squinting at a small plastic bag filled with white powder. Then, he remembered it; she needed glasses to read.

"Oh my god, you're blind as a bat right now!" he said, almost in awe.

"Not blind as a bat," she said, weighing in the possibilities. "Just blind as a Kate without her contacts in. Is this baking powder or baking soda?"

Squinting, he looked at the label, said, "Soda. Baking soda."

"Thank you."

"You know what you could do to thank me?" he asked.

As she looked to him, he have an eyebrow-quirk.

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," he responded.

Rolling her eyes, she said, "You're lucky that I love you."

"As I am reminded every moment of every day," he said blissfully as she headed into the bedroom.

He could hear her about to return after a few moments of rummaging, but before she left the bedroom, she gave, embarrassed, "Don't make fun, okay?"

"I promise that I won't make fun."

"Not even if I look awful?"

"You could never look awful."

"These glasses will prove that false."

"Kate, they can't possibly be _that _bad."

"They were on sale when I bought them."

"I don't see how that makes a difference."

"Castle."

"Wait. Get it? I don't _see._"

"_Castle!_"

"I'm sorry. That was unwarranted," he said. "Please let me see?"

"Fine."

Coming out of the bedroom, she practically pouted as he saw her, but he couldn't see why. In the thin tortoiseshell frames, she looked adorable, not repulsive - but, in all honesty, he could never find her repulsive - and the square frames seemed to suit her face. Of course, they did add a geeky youthfulness to her, paired with a Stanford tee-shirt and all, but she still looked beautiful, like the kind of woman who liked to cuddle. Well, he knew that she liked to cuddle, so maybe his profile was correct.

"I look gross," she said.

"You look gorgeous."

She gave him the look.

"I mean it," he emphasized. "You look gorgeous."

"Really?" she asked meekly. "I've always hated these."

"Well," he said, walking up to her, wrapping his arms around her, and kissing the tip of her nose, "I love them."

"You're one of few," she said, giving him a peck to the lips as she went back into the kitchen. "So, pancakes."

"I'll heat the pan if you get the dry ingredients together."

"We make a good team, you know?" she commented.

"Like Starsky and Hutch," he added.

"Wait, we've already said that before."

"I feel as though we've said that a lot before."

"Yeah."

"Ah, the magic of modern storytelling."

"What?"

"Nothing," he said. "So, should we add chocolate chips or not?"

* * *

"_Please?_"

"Richard Castle, we are _not_ showering together, and that is _final._"

"Why not?" he begged, groaning like the child he was.

"Because, first of all, the shower barely fits _me_ in it, and second, I know for a fact that I don't have," she paused, hushed her tone, faced an embarrassed look up to him, said, "enough stamina to have sex in the shower."

"What? Beckett!" he exclaimed. "My intentions were pure! _You're_ the one who brought up," he hushed as well, grinned as he whispered, "_shower sex._"

"Do you _honestly_ want our first time to be in a shower?" she asked, her tone quiet yet argumentative.

"My, Detective Beckett, are you offering more, say, _interesting_ places for our first time?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm just saying," she added, "that we shouldn't just do this on a whim. Give it meaning, you know?"

"Fine," he said, leaning down to give her a peck on the lips. "When I join you in the shower, absolutely no sex will be had."

"Right."

They paused. He grinned widely.

"That is _not_ what I meant to agree to," she said, shaking her head.

"Fine," he pouted. "Showering separately would be _lovely._"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Going into the bathroom and shutting the door, she disappeared from his sight, so he retreated to the bedroom, where all of Jim's brochures awaited him. He sat down on the bed, took out one brochure in particular; then, he took out his cell phone, dialed the number given on the brochure.

"Hello?" he asked as someone picked up on the opposite receiver. "Yes, I'd like to reserve two tickets for six o'clock this evening."

* * *

Though they hadn't clarified their relationship status to her family yet that afternoon, they were blatant and obvious and, quite frankly, a little gross. At four in the afternoon, a few family members had brought out a raised steel fire pit, and as the day cooled down, a few people sat around the fire, talked while more poorly-timed eighties music played. Because the chairs were hand-built with the intention of being too large for one person yet too small for two, Kate and Rick, of course, ended up sharing one chair; if that wasn't a dead giveaway, then they hadn't a clue as to what was. She was on his lap, his arm was wrapped around her, and every once in a while, he nuzzled against her cheek. At this point, they'd gone beyond obvious; in fact, he was beginning to think that the others were getting annoyed with them. Nonetheless, certain family members, such as Aunt Theresa and Uncle Ernie, looked on with grins, as though they'd known this would happen all along.

"Who wants beer?" Great-Aunt Lucille, a tiny elderly woman with a mouth like an R-rated comedy, asked as she slowly stood up from her large chair along the fire. "I want beer. Any other takers?"

"I'll get it," Rick said, volunteering quickly by holding up a hand.

"Are you sure?" Great-Aunt Lucille asked. "I'm already up, and you seem...preoccupied."

Kate's eyes bugged as she blushed. He grimaced.

"No, it's fine," Rick said, nodding quickly.

Then, he kissed Kate's cheek, gently meandered his way out of the chair; while he headed toward the cabin, all of the nearby relatives eyed him closely. Once he had gone into the house and gotten out of earshot, the relatives focused their glance back on Kate, who was still trying to get comfortable in the far-too-big chair.

"Okay," Aunt Theresa said, reminding Kate of her moments during interrogations, "something happened."

"Something big," another relative in the circle chimed.

"Something we should know about," Great-Aunt Lucille finished.

Shrugging her shoulders, Kate tried to play it off with, "Last night, we talked."

"Are you sure that's all?" Great-Aunt Lucille asked.

Stammering, Kate said, "Yes, that's all."

"I'm not-"

"Aunt Kate! Aunt Kate!"

Turning around, Kate let out a long-held breath as she saw Natalie racing up toward her chair. Kate's face lit up when the little girl ran to Kate's chair, stood alongside it, and flaunted a closed envelope in her hands.

"What's that?" Kate asked the girl, the grin still on the older woman's lips.

"It's a television."

"A television?"

"_Telegram_," Natalie corrected, looking down at the envelope and reading what was written on the front. "What's a telegram?"

"It's a message," Kate clarified. "What's this about?"

"It is addressed to _Miss Katherine Beckett_," Natalie sounded out, still focusing on the front of the envelope. "That's you!"

"Yes," Kate said, laughing. "That _is_ me."

Opening the envelope, Natalie pulled out a folded piece of paper, and as the girl opened the piece of paper, Kate motioned for her to come over and sit down. While Natalie situated herself on Kate's lap, Kate wrapped her arms around the little girl, kissed her scalp.

"Would you like to read it?" Kate asked as Natalie looked down at the opened letter - or telegram, whatever that was supposed to mean - in between them.

"Mhm," Natalie nodded.

Clearing her throat dramatically, the little girl began to read the letter.

"_Dearest Katherine,_" Natalie read, her voice a grand narration as Kate read along with each line, "_three books, one movie, multiple release parties, and far too many paparazzi mistakes could never fully portray the wonder that is being with you. The times I've spent with you are unparalleled; the joy of being your friend is a joy I am honored to have. However, we are moving past friendship, so I can finally say these things that have been on my mind for weeks, months, maybe years. You're beautiful, Kate, and you're intelligent beyond any comparison I can make, and even though you have flaws, plenty of them, your flaws are what make you the pa-peh-_"

"Phenomenal," Kate corrected breathlessly.

"_Phenomenal_," Natalie continued, "_woman you are. And I love you, Kate, and I know that we haven't had the best of circumstances for this partnership of ours, but I'm maddeningly in love with you anyway._"

Natalie paused, cozied back closer to her aunt, and added, "See, Aunt Kate? He _loves_ you. Told you so."

Laughing lightly, Kate pulled the girl closer, asked, "Do you want to read the last bit?"

"Yes," Natalie said. "Now, where was I?"

Kate pointed to the spot.

"Right. Thanks."

Clearing her throat again, Natalie narrated, "_If it wouldn't be too great a hassle for you, my love, I would be honored to go on a date with you tonight. Please wear something beautiful and be ready to leave by five-thirty. Sincerely, Richard._"

A silence fell over them as the fire crackled on.

"Aunt Kate?" Natalie asked a few moments later.

"Yes?" Kate asked, looking down to meet the little girl's eyes.

"I think you should go on a date with him," Natalie said, nodding quickly.

Laughing, Kate said, "I think I should go on a date with him too. How about you go tell him that?"

"Okay!" the little girl said, quickly standing up with the letter still in her hands.

"Ah, ah, ah," Kate said, halting the girl. "The letter is mine. Great job reading. Now, go tell that fool that we're going out tonight."

"Got it, Aunt Kate," the girl said, passing the letter back before racing off.

Kate was still smiling as she came out of the love-bubble that Rick, of course, had put her in. When she began to remember her surroundings, she looked around, saw all of the family members staring straight at her.

"I approve," one offered.

"Me too," another said.

"He better get back here with my beer soon," Lucille added.

"_Lucille,_" Theresa sneered.

But then their comments became irrelevant, for Rick was standing on the patio, and as Kate looked over to meet his eyes, she smiled, and he smiled back. At the moment, she felt as though there was a little secret - a good secret - flowing between their gazes, as though they both knew some unspoken truth. Of course, the whole _we're together_ and _I love you_ parts were no longer secret, but nonetheless, she still felt as though they shared some connections that made the rest of the crowd somehow irrelevant for the moment. He mouthed a kiss toward her; she mouthed one back.

And a date? She smiled even wider. Today was going to be a great day.

* * *

"You said what time we were supposed to be out, but you never said what we're doing."

"It's a surprise."

"Oh, no, it isn't."

Looking over to him in the bedroom, Kate added once more, "It can't be a surprise. I hate surprises."

"Duly noted," Rick added as he brought a black leather belt through each of the loops on his dark-wash jeans. "However, tonight is still going to be a surprise."

She closed her eyes in annoyance; debating whether or not to say something, she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it once more.

"What?" he asked.

"It's just," she began, looking over to him as he hooked his belt. "Does it involve horses?"

"No?"

"I need a confident answer."

"No, it does not involve horses."

"Good."

"Why? What's wrong with horses?"

"I'm allergic."

At that, his jaw dropped, and he grinned as he said, "You're allergic to horses?"

Rolling her eyes, she said, "It's not that big a deal. I break out and itch like crazy. That's all."

"No, it's not a big deal, but the fact that I'm just now learning this about you is," he said. "That's awesome."

"My allergies are awesome?"

"Yes," he said, but with the glare she gave him, he added, "No."

Rolling her eyes, she reached into her backpack, looked around for some nicer clothes.

"The awesome part isn't the no-horses part," Castle explained. "The awesome part is that I can learn these things about you, the stuff that work partners don't know."

"Esposito knows that I'm allergic to horses."

"_What?_" Rick asked. "He knew before me?"

"Well," Kate began timidly as she took clothing out of the backpack and set the clothes on the bed, "there may or may not have been a certain...incident."

"Do tell," Rick insisted as he pulled a new shirt on and buttoned up the pale-grey dress shirt.

"First, turn around," she said. "I don't want you watching me change."

"Fine," he said, turning around and pouting as he did so. "Now, tell me the story."

As he heard her unzipping and tying, she said, "Esposito and I had to go interview a witness long before you ever showed up, and this witness just happened to own a lot of horses. When Esposito and I couldn't get a hold of the witness in his house, we went out back into his horse stables, and though I tried to stay back, I put the job ahead of myself and went in anyway. Within ten minutes of the interview, I was itching all over, and I could barely make coherent sentences. Luckily, Esposito played it off and told me to go take car of business in there, where I popped two Benadryls and fell asleep. When he returned, he was terrified, for I was covered nearly head-to-toe in a red rash. Thankfully, Montgomery let me take the next day off while I took oatmeal baths and regretted ever entering those stables. Ever since then, I only go into barns when I'm in absolutely dire need, and when I see people on police horses, I steer clear."

He nodded slowly, taking the story in.

"So no romantic horse-drawn carriage rides?" he asked.

Though he was looking away from her, he could tell that she was giving him _the look._

"Not unless you want me to be miserable for a couple of days afterward."

"That's good, then."

"Why?"

Grinning, he thought, "Because now I have an excuse to go dog-sledding instead."

Still, he could tell that she was giving him _the look._

"You can turn around now," she said as he finished buttoning his top buttons.

After he turned around to face her, he realized that he should've turned slower, for seeing her dressed up so beautifully deserved to be taken in in many slow moments, like a fine wine. She wore a long dress with thick navy-and-white stripes, maybe six inches thick, all horizontally lined down her body. The dress was strapless; it cinched at her waist with a thin, tan leather belt; the chain that held her mother's ring was the only thing that covered her collarbone; Pilot's "Magic" came into the room from outside in muffled sounds. With only the slightest amount of makeup on, she glowed, her body that he had once seen look so dead now looking so graciously alive. Though he stared, she nonetheless continued to put her hair up into a ponytail simply using her fingers.

"It's not the nicest dress I own," she said sheepishly, "but I only brought one for the weekend, and even when I packed it, I figured I wouldn't be wearing this, so-"

"It's perfect," he said, walking toward her as she finished tying her hair up. "_You're_ perfect."

Wrapping his arms around her and holding the small of her back, he looked down toward her, still in awe. It was one thing to see her glamorized for book releases and dates with Mister July types, but seeing her like this, in a casually flowing dress that was intended for lazy summer days instead of for galas and parties, was a different feeling, an almost better feeling. Right now, he saw Comfortable Kate, and ever since Comfortable Kate had become his favorite side of her, he couldn't get enough.

"You look rather handsome as well," she said, placing both of her palms against his chest as she met his eyes.

He leaned down to kiss her, but before he met her lips, he said, "I love you."

Reaching up to kiss his lips, she held him there a long while, giving a long, luxurious kiss.

"I love you too, Rick," she said, pulling away. "Now, c'mon. We've got a horseless date to go on."

Leaning away from him, she took one of his hands into hers, and as she pulled him toward the living room, he followed close behind her. They were right by the door when she realized that she'd left her purse in the bedroom.

"Wait," she said. "My purse is in the bedroom, and I need it."

"Don't worry. I'm paying. No arguments."

"Not for that," she said. "Car keys. Kind of vital."

"After you then, my dear."

"Well, don't you two look charming!"

Suddenly, they both tensed as they heard Aunt Edith coming closer. This is not what we need right now, Rick thought as he checked his watch once more. They'd been on time, but now, they would surely be late. However, he felt an odd sense of pride while Aunt Edith looked them both over in the living room, Rick could sense approval, the kind of approval he had hoped for from her family. In fact, Rick could already picture Edith popping the _champers_ at a Castle-Beckett wedding. Weddings? Why did he have weddings on his mind when they were about to go out for their first date?

"Thanks, Aunt Edith," Kate said, blushing as she turned toward her aunt.

He wanted a picture of Kate like this, all beautiful and blushing as she wore that _gorgeous_ dress. In reality, he knew the dress likely wasn't as beautiful as he made it out to be, but seeing her both casual and dressed-up simultaneously was oddly exciting. The best part? This dress was strapless; tonight, he would learn if she liked kisses along her collarbones.

"So," Aunt Edith asked, "what's gotten you two all dressed up?"

Glancing toward him, Kate looked up, grinned. She was silent as she playfully pushed the explanation onto him.

"Actually, we're heading out for the night," Rick explained.

"And doing what?" Aunt Edith asked.

Looking down and giving a quiet smile, he said, "I asked her out on a date, and she said yes, so we're going out together. It's a surprise, so I can't say what it is in front of her."

"A date?" Aunt Edith asked, surprised and oddly saddened.

Saddened? As Kate met his glance, they both were suddenly unnerved. The approval part was supposed to be easy, wasn't it? Yesterday, all of the relatives had practically been _forcing_ a date onto them, so why didn't Aunt Edith seem excited?

"Anything wrong?" Kate asked her aunt.

"Do you know where Theresa is?" Edith asked.

Kate shook her head.

"Well, damn it, she just won a hundred bucks from both myself and your father," Edith said.

After a confused pause, Kate asked, "You guys were taking bets on us?"

"Oh, yeah!" Edith said, nodding quickly. "We've had the pool going all weekend. Scott thought you were lying about not being together. Your father and I were betting that you two would start dating once you went back to the city. Ernie said you'd stay friends, that old bastard. However, Theresa said that you two would be discussing labels before the end of the weekend, so now, my pockets are gonna be lighter."

Rick wanted to laugh but didn't. Kate smiled uncomfortably.

"Well, I'm sorry about that," Kate said, laughing lightly and seeming even more uncomfortable.

"Though you can't tell her, you can tell _me_ what you're doing tonight, right?" Edith asked, winking at Rick.

Before Kate could give a note of disapproval, Castle stepped over toward Aunt Edith and whispered the plans in her ear. Edith's lips perked up; now, the bet didn't seem to matter.

"Oh, Lord, I _approve_," she said. "Kate, you're going to _love_ this."

"It's good to know that I'm the only one who doesn't know our itinerary," Kate said, giving a wide, annoyed smile toward Rick.

"Hey, all you need to know is that it doesn't involve horses," Rick said.

"Oh, Katie's little allergy!" Edith said. "I have the _best_ story of how we found out about that!"

"That's for a reunion in the future," Kate said, eyes bugging as she ushered Rick away from the living room. "We'll see you later, Aunt Edith."

"You kids have fun!"

Once Kate had led Rick back into their shared room and shut the door, she looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise.

"They took bets," she said.

"That, they did."

"That's just not cool."

"I think it's kind of funny."

"It's not that funny."

"You're cute when you're all flustered like this."

"Castle, not helping."

"Sorry."

She sighed, sat down on the bed. He followed.

"I have this feeling that keeping anything secret from you will break you out in hives," he said, reaching an arm around her back and rubbing her hip. "Just as much as horses do."

Kate rolled her neck back, then looked at him, said, "We just haven't had the best track record with secrets."

_Shit._

She was right. Damn it, she was right. Though he'd thought that the surprise was going to be good for her, he now regretted the decision.

"If you really want to know, I'll tell you what it is," he said, giving a serious tone.

"And ruin the surprise?" she asked sarcastically. "No, Ricky, I'll let you have this one, but for future reference, we should keep the surprises to a minimum."

"For future reference?" he asked, his eyes perking up.

Looking up to him, she said, "I love you."

Pulling her closer and wrapping his other arm around her, he leaned down, brought a kiss to her forehand, and said, "I love you too."

He held her there for a moment, squeezed her tighter as she leaned against his shoulder. Then, in seconds, she pushed out of his arms, stood up quickly, picked up her purse from where it sat on the bed.

"C'mon, Castle," she said, quickly heading for the bedroom door. "I want to learn what this _date surprise_ is."

"I'm driving."

"No, you're not."

"Fine. Find somewhere nice to park downtown, okay?"

"Okay."

"Are you sure I can't drive?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

However, he hardly argued as she raced him out to her car; as she leaned against the passenger's side's door, she looked toward him, gave one of those dazzling smiles of hers.

"You're on my side," he said, grinning toward her as he pressed his chest against hers.

"I know," she said, laughing lightly as she smiled up to him. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Going up on tiptoe, she reached up, kissed his lips slowly and fully. Her lips were still in a smile as she peppered three more kisses along his jaw.

"We're going to miss _date surprise_ if we don't head out soon," he said, hardly any argument in his tone.

"If I weren't so attached to this _date surprise_, I'd probably just keep kissing you right now," she said, meeting his gaze.

"Really?" he asked, his eyes perking up. "We could always reschedule."

She grinned as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Get in the car, Ricky," she said. "Let's go on a date."

* * *

"In situations like this, babe, I'm not a fan of being blindfolded."

"First of all, _babe._ Second of all, you've implied that their are other situations in which you _enjoy_ being blindfolded. Do tell."

"I didn't imply it; you inferred it," she said. "In case you forgot, I don't like surprises."

"You're going to like this one."

"Fine."

He held the tops of her shoulders as he guided her forward; shifting to the left side meant that she had to turn a little more left while shifting to the right side meant she had to move right. On short notice, he'd required her to blindfold herself with a bandana, and to put it lightly, she'd been reluctant to put the thing on. Now, as they walked toward a place Kate couldn't identify, she still wanted the blindfold off, but at the same time, she was excited, sure that this surprise could only be something good.

"How much longer?" she asked.

Guiding her a few more steps, he said, "Two feet, Kate. At most."

Finally, he brought her to their final destination, but before he let her take the blindfold off, he let go of her shoulders, walked around front of her, and placed a thick slip of paper between her fingers.

"What's this?" she asked.

"You'll see," he said, walking around behind her and untying the blindfold. "Open up."

As she looked around, she let her jaw drop. Her eyes lit up as she turned to face him, so, of course, he felt his heart melt. Grabbing his arm, she was still surprised, yet when she looked down at the slip of paper, she merely smiled.

"A dinner cruise?" she asked, her eyes still bright. "I figured we were just going to go to a sit-down meal somewhere, but..."

Looking down at the ticket in her hand, she couldn't stop smiling. Then, she turned back to survey the scene, saw the port for the Lake George Steamboat Company, where the _Lac du Saint Sacrement_ awaited them. As she'd heard, this boat was the largest that the company ran, with three full-access decks and perfect views of the lake. Though she'd been around the lake hundreds of times, going with him was different; she could point out places to him, or they could ignore their surroundings altogether, but no matter what, they would be eating dinner together while watching a sunset over Lake George, and never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that Richard Castle, of all people, would bring her on a date like this.

"And the best part?" he said as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, brought a kiss to her cheek. Then, he deadpan-whispered, "Live music and dancing."

"I hate to break it to you, Castle," she said, turning her head in order to meet his gaze, "but I'm the worst dancer you'll ever see."

"Highly doubting that, especially after Ryan's wedding," he said, almost laughing. "I never knew someone could 'Safety Dance' like that."

Rolling her eyes but laughing, she excused with, "I was halfway past drunk at the time!"

"No, you weren't."

"No, I really wasn't."

He laughed, so she laughed, and in a quick motion, she pecked his lips.

"Let's not miss our reservation," he prompted. "Onward! I can already smell the _duck à l'orange._"

"Really? All I can smell is your ego."

"Rude."

"I'm not sorry."

Clasping her hand in his, she led him onward, and, as always, he followed her.

* * *

"Look! Right over there, that's the spot where Dad took me parasailing once. I've never been fond of heights since."

They'd been seated at the stern of the boat, so their full view of the lake let her point out every book and cranny of the place; though they'd only been on the boat for twenty minutes, she'd already told him stories from her childhood days on the lake. Smiling, he glanced out to the place she pointed to, but what seemed to matter more was how jovial she seemed whenever they passed by a place she recognized; she would be unabashed as she smiled and recounted whatever had happened in that particular spot, and somehow, the joviality she gave the stories made him love her even more.

"Parasailing?" he asked.

"It's like water-skiing with a parachute in the air."

"How did I not know that existed?"

"We'll go sometime, Castle," she said, turning back to look at him and nodding.

Then, she glanced back out the windows on the stern, saw the beauty of the lake as the sun began to set. The leaves had just begun to turn; the mountains beyond the lake cast shadows along the horizon; small boats and yachts passed by on occasion, and every time, he waved even though the people on those boats would never notice. In the background, a band of forty-something men played classic rock poorly; the band was laughably bad, which they found oddly enjoyable.

"So, in navigating the prix fixe," he said as he opened his menu, "I know that I'm fine with sharing appetizers and entrees, so I was wondering if you are as well."

"So long as you don't take the last French fry, I think we'll be good," she said, nodding toward him as she opened her own menu.

"Doesn't like stolen fries," he said. "Duly noted."

She smiled, shook her head as she looked down at her menu.

"What are you going for?" she asked him.

"The _mussels en vino fra diavlo_ sounded great as an appetizer," he said. "Yourself?"

"I was going to go for those too," she said. "Promise to share? I'll get the bruschetta."

"Pinky-swear."

She gave him a look. Rolling his eyes, he exaggerated, "Katherine, I _promise_ that I will share the mussels with you."

She narrowed her eyes in a smile toward him.

"And for dinner?" she asked. "I'm going for the scampi. You?"

"I'm stuck between the Chicken Oscar pasta and the Strip Steak."

"Don't go for the pasta," she warned. "I heard somewhere that you're not supposed to have spaghetti on a date."

"Why not?"

"I forget."

"Strip Steak it is."

Once they'd both put their menus down, she reached her left hand across the table, so he reached out his right; as their fingers entwined, she looked back out at the lake beyond. The light was just beginning to dim in the Hudson Valley, and my, was it a beautiful sight. In fact, there were few things about the current moment that _weren't_ alluring; she was beautiful, the setting sun was beautiful, the flowers on their table - number forty-seven - were beautiful, the bright blue cloth napkins on their laps were beautiful, and the view of the changing horizon was beautiful. Though he thought it unsuitable to praise himself for picking such a spot for a date, he was oddly impressed with himself, and thankfully, she seemed entirely content with the night, a smile never leaving her lips.

The band broke into a horrible rendition of "Moon River." As she stifled laughter against her right palm, she glanced toward him while he tried not to laugh as well.

"This music is a lot like us, isn't it?" she offered, turning to look at him. "Good intentions with bad outcomes."

"That's exactly like us," he said, surprised as the lead singer finally hit a decent note.

Her smile stayed as she looked out the window once more. Though Rick didn't want the moment to be interrupted, a young waiter came up to their table, brought out his notepad as he looked to the two of them.

"Good evening," he greeted with a smile. "My names is Charles, and I'll be your server for the evening. Would you like to begin with drink orders?"

"Actually, could we order everything now?" Rick asked, glancing to Kate for approval, which she gave with elated ease.

"Of course," Charles said, looking to Rick for the first order.

"I'll have the prix fixe with the mussels and the Chicken Oscar," Rick said, passing his menu toward the edge of the table.

"And for you, ma'am?" Charles asked as he looked to Kate.

"The bruschetta and the shrimp scampi, please," she said, passing her menu over as well. "Also, could we get a bottle of the _Bourgogne Rouge_, please?"

"It'll be right up," Charles said, writing down the orders as he walked off.

Once the waiter was out of earshot, Rick asked, "What kind of wine is _Bourgogne Rouge?_"

"It's French, very delicious," Kate said, nodding toward him. "Plus, it makes me feel all..."

She made a little face, and, _shit_, he knew what that meant, so his lips perked up as she laughed lightly.

"We should've bought ten bottles, then," he said as he reached back out to her hand, entwining their fingers once more.

"I love you," she said, squeezing his hand and meeting his gaze.

"I love you too," he said back, squeezing her hand in return.

"This is perfect," she said, blushing as she looked out the windows on the stern and then back to him. "It really is, Rick. Thank you."

"You're welcome, but, believe me, the pleasure is all mine," he said, squeezing her hand once more. "I love you."

"I love you too."

When Charles returned with the bottle of wine, he poured each of them a rather full glass, and once the waiter had left, Kate held up her glass, asked, "Should we do a cheers?"

"Of course we should!" Rick said. "This is a new chapter, a new book even. Without a toast, this would hardly have finality to it."

"I never knew you were so into toasts."

"No matter what," he said, "we need to toast to this moment. Would you like to do the honors?"

Smiling, she said, "I would love to."

She thought for a moment as they both held up their glasses, and though she knew how she felt about him, she couldn't find words to say. And what were you supposed to say when a best-selling novelist wanted you to toast to the new partnership you'd gained with him? Surely, any words she would find would be childish and boring in comparison to his. After that letter - or telegram and whatnot - that he'd given her, she wasn't sure how she could top such a proclamation. She loved him, truly did, but her words could never be as strong as his, so what words could she say that would show how greatly she felt for him?

"To my always," she said, holding up her glass to his.

He smiled even more, if that was even possible. Then, he held up his glass to hers.

"To my always," he said he matched.

And then they brought their glasses together, clinking the _Lac du Saint Sacrement_ engravings to each other before taking sips, and as the sound of the glasses rung out around them, they could both sense it, the finality of such a proclamation, the never-going-back idea. If they broke up after this, they likely would never be together again, for they'd tried, and if their try didn't work, then there was no point in trying once more. The same as any relationship, this partnership would either end in marriage or a breakup, yet they both felt as though the stakes were higher this time, for they both mutually preferred one outcome over the other. This was their proclamation - well, mainly hers, but he'd already given his with that letter - of how hard they would try in this, of how much this meant to them collectively.

In simpler words, this was _always_, plain and simple, the idea that they would have each other forever, whether it be romantically or platonically or otherwise. There was no going back now, and as they both swallowed their first sips of the wine, the knew it mutually.

_I will never stop fighting for you._

* * *

Because entrees typically cooked longer than appetizers - they were on a boat, so any time constraints that happened were mostly expected - they took the post-appetizer time as an opportunity to go to the third-deck stern, where an open-air deck awaited them. The night had grown much colder, so the deck was empty; though chairs were set up along the stern, they hardly went toward the chairs. Instead, they raced, hand in hand, up to the very tip of the stern, where she looked to him, gave a wide smile.

"You know you want to," she said, a giddy grin upon her lips.

Looking to her, he said, "I know that _I_ want to, but I'm surprised that _you _want to."

"Are we doing this or not?"

"_So_ doing it."

Then, she stepped up at the very tip of the stern, and as he stood behind her, he wrapped his arms around her, brought his hands over her stomach and his chin to her shoulder. While he looked toward her, she looked out across the lake, lifted her arms up as a wing-span, and as a breeze came over them, there they were, on a boat in the middle of a lake while pulling a Jack-and-Rose on the stern.

"I'm flying, Jack!" she said jokingly, laughing as she did so.

Leaning into her cheek, he kissed her there, held her as she stepped back away from the tip.

"So," he said as they stepped toward the center of the deck, "there's something I've been wanting to do all night."

"What is it?" she asked as he held her hand and stood there at the center of the deck.

"Well," he said, "the sun is setting, you're beautiful, and the moment seems right, so..."

Then, he leaned down, reached into the pocket of his pants, and brought out his cell phone and a pair of earbuds. Unwinding the headphones, he faced her, pressed one into her ear while pressing the other into his own. He turned on the phone, pulled up a music app, and went to start playing a certain song.

"You'll probably find this creepy," he admitted, "but months upon months ago, I heard this song, and for some reason, I thought of you, and ever since then, I couldn't listen to this song because it made me wish we were together, and at that time, it hurt to think about."

"Rick," she said, apologetic even though she knew that she needn't be.

"But we aren't wishing anymore, right?" he said, giving a smile as he met her eyes. "Plus, the band is awful, so I figured I could only ask you to a dance if the song we danced to were the original."

She laughed as she pulled him closer, said, "Yes, you're right about that."

Leaning forward, he brought a long, slow kiss to her lips, holding her gingerly as he did so. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm purple glow to the mountains beyond the lake. As bits of sunlight came over her face, she glowed, and though the air was cold, the temperature added an allure to being close together; they leaned into each other just a bit more out of habit. And, goodness, he loved her, so the sunset, the dinner cruise, the wine he now so greatly loved, all of it faded away for just that moment, for she was there with him, and she loved him as well.

"I love you, Kate," he said as he pulled away from the kiss.

"I love you too," she said as she looked up at him.

Then, he pressed play on the phone, then brought the device into his sport-coat's pocket. As she heard the first few notes, she grinned, met his eyes as he placed his right hand on the small of her back; she tucked her left arm beneath his right arm, brought the palm of her hand to his shoulder-blade. Then, his left hand and her right clasped alongside them as they danced together to Elton John's "Your Song." Beyond them, the sky turned into a bright mélange of pinks and oranges and purples; the lyrics sunk against her skin in beautiful, comfortable closeness. He adored their height difference when she wasn't wearing heels, for now, she was at the perfect height to nuzzle against his neck, to rest her head alongside his shoulder and across his chest.

With the verse about forgetting the eye color of your love, he whispered to her, "Don't worry. I'll never forget the color of her eyes."

She laughed against his body. Now, they were close enough that she could feel his steady heartbeat against her collarbones; the sky turned to a deeper orange color, a darker color that faded into red. Had the song repeated? She could hardly tell, for now, she wasn't listening to the lyrics, which she already knew anyway; she was feeling this moment with him, was embracing the way she felt as she was pressed against his chest. Was this even real? Despite wondering, she didn't dare pinch herself; even if this were merely a dream, which, in all honesty, it seems to be, she dared not wake herself, for this moment was too perfect to end that quickly.

As the song came to a close, she lifted her head from his chest, looked up at him. He met her eyes, took the earbuds out of their ears. Then, in a sweeping motion, she brought both of her hands up to his face, cupped his face in her hands, and stood up on tiptoe in order to kiss him. She held him there for a long while, then wrapped her lips against his. As he kissed her back, she brushed her tongue across his front teeth, breathily sighed as she kissed him again. He tugged her closer, balanced her with his arms, then kissed her back harder, more fervently.

Pulling away, she repeated, "I love you, Rick."

Somehow, this admission sounded more raw, more honest, than any of the others. Though he knew that all of her other proclamations had been honest, this one felt more vital, more necessary, as though the words would've come out of her mouth whether she'd intended for them to or not.

Lifting his lips to a half-smile, he said, "I love you too, Kate."

"Let's head back inside," she said blissfully as he kissed her forehead. "Our food's probably getting cold."

"You just want more wine, don't you."

"That may or may not be true."

They met each other's eyes, laughed as the sun seemed to disappear from view.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too," she said.

And, hand in hand, they headed back to the second deck.

* * *

They were quiet when they returned to the cabin; at that hour of the night, all of the relatives had left, so now, the reunion weekend was over, and everyone, including Kate and Rick, would return home the next day. Back when he'd first learned the itinerary of the trip, he'd been told that Kate planned on leaving around ten in the morning and returning to the city around two in the afternoon; though he was sad to see such a pleasant weekend end, he knew that they still had a future together in the city, so leaving, for him, was both solemn and enticing simultaneously. He held her hand in one of his and the remainder of their wine in the other; as he placed the wine on the counter, they both noticed a note from Jim, claiming that he'd gone to bed long beforehand, so once the wine was at a safe distance, she stopped holding back.

Pressing him against the wall, she leaned up, brought her lips fervently toward his. In moments, they were kissing passionately, their tongues colliding while he pushed his knee in between her legs. Giving a breathy moan, she let him turn her around so that she was against the wall, felt as he trailed kisses down her jaw and - _shit_ - bit at her neck. Surely, that was going to leave a mark. Her breath hitched as he sucked at her collarbone - God, that was a good spot - and as she clung to him, she ran her fingers through his hair, closed her eyes in elation.

"We can't do this here," she said breathily against his ear. "Not in the house."

"I can call a hotel."

"I can do you one better."

"Okay."

"We'll need a bunch of blankets, protection, and some rope."

"I'm liking where this is going."

"And bug spray."

"I take that back."

Then, she yanked him closer, took to his mouth once more as she touched between his legs.

"Just kidding," he gave quickly. "I like this idea. In fact, I like it a _lot_."

"Kiss me or get everything I just said, Castle," she said against him. "Either or. That wine's made me insatiable. And frustrated."

"I swear, that's the hottest thing you've ever said."

"Shut up."

"Gladly."

Then, he pulled away, hardly because he wanted to. Heading into the mudroom, he went into a closet next to the washing machines, grabbed three blankets, looked to her for approval, which she gave. Next, she opened her purse, took out protection while he searched for rope. Once he'd found rope in the closet, he took the supplies, placed them on the couch. He sat down as he waited for her, and when she returned, she, to his surprise, hiked up her skirt, placed her knees on either side of his hipbones, and straddled him as she leaned down to kiss him once more, her hips grinding against him. This time, he was glad to be sitting, for his knees would've given out otherwise.

"Beckett," he said in between kisses, "not in the house."

"Starting to not care," she said, pressing closer to him.

"You'll care in the morning. Come on."

"Sometimes, it's a relief when you're right. Right now, it isn't."

He laughed against her, and though Comfortable Kate was still his favorite side of her, this side of Kate could easily become his favorite.

"Let's go, Castle," she said, grabbing the blankets and rope as she led him toward the patio. "Let me take you somewhere you'll enjoy."

* * *

_A/N: Yes, there will be a rating change on the next chapter. Whoops. If anyone is interested, you can google the Lake George Steamboat Company - they actually don't offer cruises like the one I described, but, hey, this is fiction for a reason - and take their virtual online tour of the Lac du Saint Sacrement. It's actually rather cool. Anyway, I'll be out for the next week, but don't you worry; you'll get the next chapter as soon as I possibly can post it. I promise._


	5. Sunday Evening

_Disclaimer: NO_

_A/N: Welcome to an M-rated chapter! However, this is on the softer side of M, so M-fearers, you may be fine if you skip a few lines. Also, welcome to Samy's explanation as to why this is so late! First of all, this chapter was hard (don't you dare make that a pun) to write. After trying three times (THREE) to write the whole, well, 'sexy' scene, I nearly gave up. A line break instead of 3,000 words seemed much more alluring. However, I didn't back down. I was going to write these two characters doing it if my life depended on it. They would cross lines, not break lines. Or, break lines. But still. Then, we came to the whole 'how sexy exactly must this be' situation. That, uh, is not something I'd like to comment much on, but it got to the point where I was unsure as to how to describe something in the most vague, un-sexy way while still keeping it, well, sexy. And then...the characterization. In a shorter summary, this took multiple drafts, and each time, I was fairly sure that I'd lost it. Anyway, this is the final copy, so let's hope that I made it work..._

* * *

"Paddle on the left, Castle!"

"Your left or my left?"

"We're facing the same direction! This is a canoe, not a space shuttle! Figure it out!"

"Next time we get that wine, we're insuring that we have a proper bed ready somewhere for the aftermath."

"_Paddle!_"

With that, he paddled on the left; they'd been going in circles at first, but now that he - hey - was actually listening to her, they began to go in a straight line.

"Now paddle on the right," she gave from behind him in the canoe.

"Your right or-"

"_Castle._"

"Sorry."

She had a flashlight, and that was it; whatever was in the water beneath them, they knew not, and at this point, they'd padded at least five-hundred feet from the dock, so wherever they were going, shore wasn't close by.

"Where exactly are we going?" he asked, glancing behind to where she kneeled in the canoe.

"Look to your left - _our_ left - and squint if you need to," she said. "There are a lot of small islands throughout the lake. This one, one of the smallest ones, is one of few that aren't made into campsites during the summer. We'll be the only ones there, and we'll be far out of earshot of anyone nearby."

Quirking his lips up, he asked, "My, Beckett, does that mean that you're loud?"

"Not in the mood to be pushed, Castle."

"Just asking."

"Paddle."

"Fine."

Then, he looked out, saw the small island; the place seemed merely a hundred feet wide, maybe three hundred long. With some tree coverage but mostly open air, the place seemed quiet, reserved. However, he could hardly see the island until they banked against it, when she instructed him to climb out of the canoe as he yanked the boat up onto shore. Once he had done so, she stepped out into the shallower sections of the water, pulled the boat up higher as she readied the rope. Tying a sailor's knot to the stern, she pulled the rope out to a nearby tree stump, evidently a place she'd tied boats before. She secured the knots; then, she walked back toward where he stood, and in quick, almost alarming motions, she yanked him into a kiss, her tongue at his lips before he could even react.

"Kate," he gave breathlessly as she kissed him once more.

When she pulled away from him, she still kept his shirt balled up in her hands as she said, "Sorry. I needed to."

His lips curled into a smile as she moved away from him and went into the canoe to pick up the blankets. Though she still wore that dress, she was agile as could be, leaning down to spread a blanket along the ground nearby. Placing the other two blankets at the edge of the first, she headed back toward him, and as she took his hand, she leaned in to him once more, this time brought her lips slowly up to his. He wrapped his lips around hers; bringing a hand to the small of her back, he held her there, kept his chest against hers. Then, he swept her up into her arms, and while she laughed in his arms, he carried her bridal-style over to the blanket, where he rested her down gingerly. When he crouched down next to her, she drew him closer, tugged at his shirt as she pulled him into a slow, deep kiss.

"You know," she said, pulling away from him so that she could look into her eyes, "I like to be on top."

Then, the firework show going on in his head released a burst worthy of the grand finale. At a loss for words, he said, "Okay."

She laughed, looked up to him, asked, "Speechless already?"

Because he couldn't think of anything else to say, he, instead, brought his lips to hers, kissed her even more fervently as she unhooked the first button on his shirt. Then, he trailed his lips to the edge of hers, felt her exhale as he kissed her jaw. Trailing his lips down her neck, he sucked at the center of her neck, made sure that he could leave a mark of pride right there; the breathy moan she gave urged him to go faster, but no, he was going to take this as slowly as he could, for their first time together was something to be cherished, not something to be rushed. Next, he teased her collarbone, nipped at her skin to make her arch up against him. As she breathily said his name, he swore that this was so very worthwhile to wait for.

When he stayed at her collarbone for a longer time, she insisted, "Keep going. Don't stop."

Gently, slowly, he eased the top of her dress down, exposed more of her skin as the top of her brassiere peeked through. The garment was pale-pink lace, an oddly more feminine color than he'd expected but still one he adored on her, and as he kissed her down farther, stroked his thumb across her breast, he glanced up to her, expected to see the enjoyment she'd shown moments beforehand but instead found something else.

"Kate?" he asked, seeing the nervousness in her eyes. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," she said quickly. "I'm fine."

Though he wasn't sure he believed her, he went back to kissing her, trailed his lips down the center of her chest. Now, her dress rested beneath the underwires of her brassiere, and as he kissed down farther, she roomed a jagged breath inward, insisted, "Stop."

Bringing his head back up, he watched as she sat up, moved off to the side on the blanket, and lay back down farther away from him. As she hiked her dress back up, she covered her eyes with her hands, seemed too far-out for his liking.

"I'm sorry, Castle," she said, her voice hushed. "I'm sorry. I..."

She trailed off there as he lay down alongside her, not too close but not too far away either.

"Hey," he gave softly, reaching out a hand toward her.

Uncovering her eyes, she glanced to him, gave a soft, almost embarrassed smile as she took his hand.

"I want you," she said, looking over to meet his eyes. "I've felt that way for a long time. In bed at night, I would wonder how you would feel next to me in bed, so right now, I want nothing more than to be with you. I just want you, Rick. Just you."

Moving closer to him, she eased against his side; he looked down toward her, listened on as she looked up to meet his gaze.

"I haven't been, well, intimate with someone since I was shot," she admitted. "Though I thought I could, I just..."

She seemed so sobered, so raw and restrained as she lay there next to him.

"I want to let you see them," she said, nodding up to him, "but every time you came near them, I froze."

"Kate," he gave, remorseful and sorry but, more than anything, sad for her, for she never backed down from a challenge, but now, this challenge was consuming her, hurting her.

Leaning up, she pressed her chest against his side, cupped one of his cheeks as she leaned up to kiss him. He reached out for another blanket, spread it over the two of them as he held her closer in the darkness. Now, he could hear the lake moving, the sounds of owls in the distance, the gentle whisk of the wind. Reaching an arm out around her, he held them together comfortably.

"Let's look at the stars," he said, smiling softly down to her.

As she matched his look, she said, "Okay."

While they held each other there, they looked up at the night sky beyond them, and, my, was it a sight. Hundreds of speckled stars lined the horizon; from here, hardly any light pollution disrupted their view, so each and every star seemed to have come out. With clumps in certain areas and sparse dark patches in others, the sky was an illuminated navy against bright flecks of light. The crescent moon shone above them, and while they both looked up, they knew they'd never have a view like this, so unobstructed, anywhere near the city.

"It's beautiful," she said, her voice as soft as a whisper.

"It is," he said, nodding as he still looked up. "It truly is."

Kissing his neck, she nuzzled her face next to his, breathed him in while they held each other there. Yes, the view was beautiful, but somehow, he made the view better, as though the stars would be merely stars had he not been there. However, he didn't add to the view of the stars; instead, he added to the experience, to the feeling of being right there. He gave this memory meaning, for they shared this moment with each other. As he looked up, she held her face close to his.

"Castle?" she asked quietly, not wanting to disrupt the soft sounds of the moment.

He hummed in response.

Bringing the palm of her hand to his chest, she leaned into him, said, "Thank you. For not pushing."

He met her eyes, grinned out of habit, and said, "Always."

Then, she leaned up to kiss him once more, her motion soft, slow. He met her with careful motions, touching her only where he knew she enjoyed being touched. As the kiss gained fervor, she cupped his cheek in her hand, pushed up to meet him as their mouths came together. Though she kept her slow motions, he could sense the passion within her, the want that was slowly returning; now, she wanted to try again, and though he was unsure as to how, he knew he would be there for her every step of the way, and if she wanted to stop, then they would stop, but if she wanted to keep going, they would keep going.

Pulling away from the kiss, she looked up to meet his eyes, hers filled with love and want and a strange sense of hope. She pulled herself away from his arms, sat up as she took to the top of her dress; while she pulled the garment up and off of her body, she pushed the blanket on top of them away, forced herself to uncover everything. Because she knew that she couldn't take the dress off slowly, couldn't think too much about showing him her scars, she pulled the garment off and pushed it far away, exposing most of her body. Now, she lay down on her back, her nerves skyrocketing, her body trying to relax. With vast expanses of skin uncovered, she felt raw, intimate; as his eyes came over her, she shivered.

Then, he came closer to her and brought a hand to the top of her shoulder. To him, her body was, in few words, extraordinary. The plane of her muscular stomach and the tops of her runner's thighs were only interrupted by the pale pink lace lingerie she wore; her arm muscles were flexed as she leaned against them. Beneath her brassiere, her tattoo shone out, a few perfect little lines that framed her body. First, he looked to her bullet wound's scar, a tiny circle of puckered skin along her breast. How could such a small thing harm her so greatly? he wondered as he glanced toward the scar. However, the small mark now seemed so menial, so mundane, next to her body, for that mark hadn't taken her down; no, that mark hadn't killed her, and she was powerful far beyond that mark. Next, he looked to her long surgical scar, a pinkish wound that extended all the way down her left side. Unlike when they had been swimming, she now kept her left arm far away from the scar; instead, she presented the mark to him, tried her best to feel confident in showing him her scars. He came even closer to her, brushed his shoulder against hers and felt her shiver.

"I don't like the way they look," she gave, trying to excuse herself, "but I'm-"

"You're beautiful."

His interruption was breathless, as though he hadn't intended to say it and had instead let the words simply slip from his mouth while he wasn't paying attention.

"You are absolutely beautiful, Kate," he said, looking up to meet her glance.

Then, she began to relax, and as her muscles softened, he came over toward her, leaned down over her so that he could kiss her again. Dipping down, he brought his lips to hers, wrapped his mouth around hers as he brought the back of his right hand over her bullet wound's scar. Though her breath hitched against his, she didn't pull away; instead, she relaxed further, brought her hand up to meet his.

"I love you," he said in between lip-locks.

"I love you too," she said.

Then, he pulled back, asked, "May I?"

A sly smile coming to her lips, she said, "Yes, please."

His lips perked up as he leaned down to kiss her again, this time more fervently. With heat, he kissed her more, felt her moan beneath him as he ventured his fingers to the clasp of her bra. Squeezing and pulling the clasp, he removed her bra with ease, leaned back to admire her once more, and, damn it, she had beautiful breasts. He knew it was a dumb thought, that there was so much more to her than her breasts, but, shit, her breasts were well-formed, a size that was more than a handful but not too large.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked almost mockingly as he slowly skimmed his hand alongside her right breast.

"You have no idea," he gave.

Then, he kissed her lips again, pressed his chest against hers. As she clawed at his back, he sloppily brought a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then brought another down to the side of her chin. Sucking at her chin-bone, he kissed down her face, trailed his hot mouth across the plane of her outstretched neck. He could feel her quickened breath, her ready heart, and, damn it, she was gorgeous. Biting her collarbone once more, he heard her mewl, an immensely satisfying sound that made him far too excited. As he brought a hand to her right breast, he kissed down farther, rolled her nipple between his thumb and pointer-finger. From the moan she gave, he could tell that she liked that, so he massaged her breast, rolled her nipple once more as she choked out another immensely satisfying sound. Oh, goodness, she was loud. Or, rather, she wasn't loud, but she had a mouth; if she felt pleasure, she didn't hold back, and, of course, that turned him on beyond any compare. His erection, which had been slowly growing earlier, was now coming faster than he'd expected.

He brought his hand to her left breast as his mouth came to her right, and while he rolled her left nipple, he sucked at her right breast, kissed around their peaks while she sighed in pleasure. As his teeth grazed her nipple, she choked out a soft sound, bucked her hips against his, and now, she surely knew how the head below his waist was taking in the moment. He moved to her left breast, sucked at the hard nipple as he trailed his palm down her left side, an affectionate touch that gave her shivers. Though he wanted to keep going, wanted to continue down, he looked up to her, trailed his lips softly in between her breasts.

As she met his eyes, she breathlessly, hazily gave, "Don't stop."

For once, he followed her orders, so he dove back against her skin, kissed a hot trail down her stomach. Teasing her, he jumped his mouth down past her panties, rubbed his tongue against her inner thighs while she sucked in a breath.

"Castle," she forced out; it amazed him how greatly they hated to love teasing each other.

He brought his mouth back up to the very base of her stomach, tugged her panties down so that she could kiss her there, and when a moan slipped from her lips, he asked, "Enjoying yourself?"

With a salacious laugh, she brought her right hand to the top of his head, gently but forcefully pushed his head down.

And, with that, he swore he was dreaming, for never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined that she would be like _this_, so lithe and wanting as he tugged down the sides of her underwear, most of the garment still on her body. Momentarily, he slowed his mouth, ran his fingers over the front of her panties, evoking a deep sigh from within her.

"Holy shit, Kate," he said, looking up to her. "You're wet."

"Yes, and it's not comfortable."

"You're _really_ wet," he emphasized, his finger tracing the soaked areas of her panties, and only when she bucked at his touch did he remember that she was still lithe beneath him.

Tugging her panties down her legs, he pulled her underwear off, pocketed them simply because he could. He would receive a look for that later. However, he would, for now, breathe hotly against her, tease her as long as he possibly could; when he finally brought his mouth to her, she let out a carnal sound - God, he could never tire of how she sounded like this - and he teased her further, brought his tongue anywhere other than her bundle of nerves, and as her breathing staggered, he almost felt smug. Later on, she would scold him for so greatly stroking his ego, but for now, he could stroke other things.

Then, he dared bring his tongue to her bundle of nerves, looped around it in a way that made her back arch up, made her eyes close in pleasure, made her gasp in the most satisfying way. His name was a whisper across her lips as he brought two fingers into her, curled them up while she moaned against him. Then, he curled them again, and again, and again, and with each motion he made, he could feel her getting closer, could feel heat collecting below her stomach. Watching her like this, seeing her like this, _doing_ this with her, the idea of it came over him in waves of thankfulness, an emotion he'd never expected to experience with her. Throughout their partnership, he had longed for her; from how she arched against his hand, how her fingers wove through his hair, he knew one thing for sure.

_She's longed for this as well._

And then she clenched around his fingers, gave one last sound as her release finally came, and with the look of absolute pleasure, the look of undeniable adoration, on her face, she buried both hands in his hair, breathed heavily and sporadically while he slowed his motions, kissed her still. When she went slack against the blanket, he took his fingers from her, leaned up so that he could meet her gaze. She reopened her eyes, the most elusive of smiles upon her lips, her eyes half-closed like bedroom eyes. Cupping his face in her right hand, she leaned up, kissed him in such a genuine way that he melted above her, pressed his chest down to hers while he kissed her back. After a moment, she moved her mouth back from his, and as he raised up over her, looked down at her, she met his gaze, asked softly, "Why is your shirt still on?"

This woman, she would be the death of him.

He moved off to her side as she leaned up onto her forearms, and as he quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt, she placed a hand over the center of his chest, stopped him there. Then, they both sat up as she pulled the sleeves of his shirt off of his arms, kissed his neck as she shirt fell from her graceful fingers and into a heap alongside them. As she leaned toward his chest, she yanked at the waistband of his pants, unbuttoned them with sheer ease. She unhooked his belt and unzipped his pants, pushed up to kiss his lips as her hand skirted below his boxers, against him. When she wrapped a hand around him, he gasped against her mouth, evoking a salacious laugh from within her diaphragm.

"Enjoying yourself?" he echoed breathlessly.

She moved her hand up his length, then back down once more.

"You have no idea," she echoed as well.

And then she pinned him down, pushed him forward as his eyes lit up. While she tugged his pants down toward his knees, he looked up, in awe of her. Before she could even bring his pants off, she brought her chest down against him, pressed her lips to his as she grinded against him once more. He went to kiss her back, but she'd moved away milliseconds beforehand, had gone back down to pull his pants entirely off, yanking them beyond his ankles. Then, she returned to his lips as she slipped his boxers off, let him pull them off the rest of the way while her lips slowed against his. With every kiss she gave, with his hand cupping her cheek, with tendrils of her hair caressing his bare chest, they drew closer, as close as they could be.

"I love you," he whispered breathlessly to her while she ran her fingers through his hair.

"I love you too," she said, meeting his gaze, a half-smile upon her lips.

Reaching over beside them, she took a condom, and - _fuck_ - ripped the package open with her mouth, her gaze never leaving his. She brought her hands down over him, spread it on as she whispered hotly up to him, "Now, make love to me, Rick."

And, for once, he did exactly what she'd asked him to do.

In miraculously easy motions - maybe they should've done this sooner - she brought him into her, groaned and arched back as he filled her to the edge, her body needing moments to adjust; he kissed her once more, a tender gesture that brought one of his hands up to hold the side of her face. At first, she rode him slowly, the motions languid but cautious, and, goodness, he was already close to begin with, but then, she moved faster by such a small amount, and he wasn't sure if he could take it, for this woman above him, this extraordinary woman, had her eyes closed in pure ecstasy and had her breath so close to his mouth, and the sounds she made - oh, God, the sounds she made - were making it hard for him not to turn her over and fuck her absolutely senseless. However, he knew that she was drawing it out for exactly the same reason he'd had; she wanted their first time to be memorable and lasting, not fast and satisfyingly unsatisfying. He couldn't help but moan as she moved over him expertly, and, goodness, how many times had he imagined this? He could hardly count how many times he'd pictured the way Kate Beckett looked as she grinned down toward him in pleasure, as her mouth made an _o_ with every sound she made, as she moaned against his mouth in between kisses.

Then, he couldn't help himself, felt the need to gingerly hold her against himself as he turned them over, as he brought her back against the blanket. She laughed, the most beautiful thing he swore he'd ever heard, while they readjusted, hardly missing a beat, and then, he leaned down to kiss her as he pumped into her, and her arms wrapped around his chest, and she kissed his neck as her fingernails dug into his shoulder-blades. In the same way she had, he started out slow, kept the movements long as he thrust into her, but when she nipped at his neck, when she took his earlobe into her mouth and sucked, he quickened, evoking higher, more pleasure-filled sounds from her, and, goodness, he couldn't have imagined her any better in bed. Sure, he'd figured that she would be someone good to watch in bed, but he'd never figured that she would grab his ass or that she would clench her hands in his hair or that she would whisper the dirtiest of things into his earlobe while he desperately tried to draw their pleasure out. Then, he couldn't take it anymore, sped up as she arched back and balled her fists into the blanket beneath them, echoes of _I'm close I'm close I'm so close_ coming from her lips, and the best part was that he could tell that she was close, for she convulsed around him, her muscles tightening, her back arching, her face resting against his neck.

When she came, she let out the most full-bodied, gutteral moan he'd ever heard from her, and he could feel the spasms of her body throughout his, so with only two thrusts more, he released as well, came as she gripped the blanket firmly in her hands, a honeyed smile licking at her lips. She came down slowly, and as she did so, she smiled up to him, her mouth lazy as she sloppily kissed him once more, her lips soft and fluid against his.

"You were right," he whispered in between kisses. "I had no idea."

* * *

"I can't help it if all of my pajamas here are family-appropriate!"

"Beckett, I get family-appropriate, but those are just so..."

"So what?"

"So...not you."

She gave him a look.

"I think these suit me, Castle."

But, no, those pants did not suit her, not in the least, for they were periwinkle, and they had this little pattern of grey cats doing various things with lilac balls of yarn. While one cat placed the ball of yarn among all of its paws, another was chasing the ball of yarn as a third became tangled in the yarn. Those were pants for, well, anyone _but_ Kate Beckett. For all he knew, Kate Beckett wore steel armor to bed, but he knew, for a fact, that she would _never_ wear pants like those. However, she _was_ wearing those pants, so maybe he hadn't a right to say that.

"Really?" he asked. "Are you a cat person?"

"Anything but horses, Castle. I'm an anything-but-horses person."

Then, she pulled a tee shirt on over her bare chest, and while he sat on the pushed-together beds in the bedroom they had shared all weekend, she took a brush out of her bag, went to tie her hair back. They'd come back in and taken a shower - together, of course, but nothing beyond showering could possibly happen in that tiny shower, for the few times that they'd tried to kiss, he had bumped his hip, or she had elbowed his chest, or someone had nearly ended up with a concussion that they wouldn't want to have to explain the details of to anyone who would treat them for said concussion - and as they'd prepared for bed, brushing their teeth alongside each other while they both wore only a towel, he'd found an odd domesticity to it. Though he tried not to think too much about it, he could get used to this, but at the same time, he _couldn't_ get used to it, for even when he thought he'd figured her out entirely, she surprised him once more. For example, she'd put on those cat pants.

However, the cat pants didn't take away from how much of a sight she was, her hair in a tousled bun, her grey NYPD shirt loose around her chest, her face free of makeup but full of a glow from inside. When he'd told her that she was beautiful, he'd meant it, but when he saw her in times like this, during times when she wasn't necessarily trying to look beautiful but when she somehow peaked in beauty in a way that made it hard for him to look away from her, he was breathless, absolutely in awe of how true those words were. She was beautiful, much more than that even.

"Are the pants really that bad?" she asked, meeting his glance as she went closer to her side of the bed. "You're staring."

"No, they're fine," he said, dropping his argument as he let himself be entranced by her.

"Well," she said, placing her palms gingerly at her hips, "I'm sure that the cat pants and I have our methods of convincing you that they're_ awesome_."

And then she swayed her hips back and forth slowly, and, of course, he was entranced even more by her, so when she threw her head back in laughter before crawling into bed, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She settled in among the blankets and alongside him, and as she leaned against the headboard, she asked, "Is everything alright?"

"You're beautiful. That's all."

Her lips curved into a soft smile, her gaze moving down. Meeting his eyes once more, she said, "You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

"Want me to grab the light?"

"Please do."

As he reached toward the switch, she adjusted her pillows, lay down on her side so that she faced him. Once the light was off, he did the same, and from some kind of force, he was drawn to her, so with ease, he ended up with his pillow close to hers, with their knees touching, with their faces only inches apart, with his hand softly resting against her left side.

"What time is it?" he asked.

Glancing at the watch she'd neglected to take off, she unhooked the watch and said, "Just past midnight."

She placed the watch behind her on her bedside table, and then, she turned back to him, nestled right back up against him.

"It's Monday," he said.

"I have to work tomorrow," she said.

"We go back to the city today."

"Yeah, we do."

"Do you want to go back?"

"Yes and no."

"Me too."

She met his eyes, then closed hers as she brought a soft, long kiss to his lips. Holding him there for a long time, she strained her neck, needed to feel him right there. Was the weekend honestly ending? Of course, this was a long weekend to begin with, but somehow, it had seemed so short. From the beginning, she could recount arriving, keeping secrets, socializing with family, letting those secrets out, being on the date with him, and now this. It all seemed so fast yet so slow, and now, her frenzy was coming to a close. On Tuesday, she would go back to the precinct and work, and after work, who knew what she would do? Would life be drastically different? No, she figured, for coming home - or going home - to him would only better her workdays. After all, his apartment felt like a home in the way that this cabin felt like home; she could go there at any time and feel welcome there despite the season, the current state of things, the way she felt. Now, she would have her days end not with takeout and a movie but with him, with him stroking her side, with him bringing his lips to her forehead, with him loving her.

Yes, life would change, but it would change for the better, and that much, she knew for sure.

"Should we tell anyone?" she asked honestly, looking up to meet his eyes.

He shrugged.

"It's up to you. Mother and Alexis will want to know, but I'm sure they'll figure it out long before we tell them, even if we tell them tomorrow."

She laughed lightly, for he was correct; Martha could sniff out a coupling with the utmost ease.

"It's obvious that my Dad already knows," she said. "We _could_ tell the boys. However, if Lanie doesn't hear before them, then I'll be toast."

To that, he laughed as well, for she was correct.

"However," she repeated, the serious part of her question coming, "we can't let Gates know. She already doesn't seem to like me, and if she thinks she can fire me on an ethics violation of dating you, then I have no doubt that she will."

And when he smiled toward her with that, she raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Do you want me to get fired?" she asking jokingly.

"You said that we're dating."

"And?"

"And I like hearing you say that. A lot."

Slowly, he brought his lips to hers, so she smiled into a kiss, pulled his body closer to hers so that even their chests touched. When they both pulled away, their foreheads rested against each other.

"And then what will happen?" she asked, her voice smaller now.

With one hand, he cupped her cheek, gave her eskimo-kisses while he thought for a moment. She bit her lip impatiently.

"And then," he said, kissing her before he could continue, "you go back to doing what you're good at, and I go back to writing about you doing what you're good at. We'll spend our days together, and when we each go home, you may come with me, or I may come with you, or we may part our separate ways, but no matter what, I will wish you good morning, kiss you goodnight whenever I possibly can, and if you need me, I will be there even if I have to brave an apocalypse just to get to you. Dating or not dating, you're my partner, Kate, so I'll be there until the wheels fall off. Though things will change, we'll grow into the changes, and eventually, we'll figure all of this out, but for now, I know that I love you, Kate, and if you feel even a fraction of what I feel for you, then I'm the luckiest man alive."

He leaned up, kissed her once more, but as he went to pull away, she pulled him closer, lengthened the kiss.

"I love your words," she whispered to him. "I love them, each and every one. I love _you_, Rick. More than I ever thought I would, I love you."

And he grinned, and she grinned, and somehow, the moment was immensely right just then.

"Beckett?"

"What?"

"For the record," he asked, his tone analytical and mockingly serious, "we were on an island earlier, yes?"

"Yes?"

"And, by definition, this island was minuscule, yes?"

"Yes?"

"So, therefore, most all of the island was a beach, yes?"

"Yes?"

"So, from this reasoning, I can conclude that we did, in fact, have sex on a beach, yes?"

To that, she grabbed his ear, making him cry _apples_ right before she let go.

"If you want that to ever happen again, then we're not sharing the whole," she quieted, "fucking on a beach part, okay?"

"Absolutely okay."

"Good."

"Good."

Then, he leaned forward once more, pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Goodnight, Kate," he whispered to her.

Bringing a chaste kiss to his lips, she whispered back, "Goodnight, Rick."

She was warm, and she smelled of vanilla and jasmine and linens, and as he slept, he swore that his smile never once left his mouth.


End file.
